Hermione Bergeron
by Kyonomiko
Summary: Hermione struggled for a time, in the aftermath of the war, but somewhere along the way she decided it best to forget sad things. Her seemingly endless capacity to forgive elates Draco Malfoy, bored of his own hollow existence. Unfortunately something this easy is rarely as it seems. He will have to look more closely to find out what was done to Hermione Granger. EWE Dramione
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own pretty much nothing. JKR gave life to Draco Malfoy and for that I am thankful. For her epilogue, I am less thankful so it will be ignored herein.**

The pub sits on the corner of a busy street, just steps from a number of financial institutions, law offices, and consulting firms.

All muggle of course.

Draco Malfoy is "slumming" in muggle London as has been his habit for more than two years.

He enters his favored haunt with his typical swagger: Long strides, one hand in his jean pocket, chin slightly tilted up, eyes narrowed and discerning. He is on the prowl.

Three years after the Wizarding War, most of that time spent brooding, soul searching, and a little guilty, his Mother had begun the pureblood tradition of pressuring her only child into finding a suitable match and taking his place as the head of the family.

Technically, he already is. Lucius Malfoy, his cold and detached Father, lost that title when sentenced to Azkaban after the war. Narcissa, Draco's doting if incredibly proper Mother, avoided the same fate. Her role in protecting Harry Potter during the final battle had done much to salvage not only her own position, but the family name in general.

Now the family company is his; also the Manor and other various properties, sizable vault at Gringott's bank, and all the power that comes with one of the oldest, most respected, and most feared names in the Wizarding world.

His birthright is impressive.

But all things pureblood, and indeed all things Malfoy, are calculated and traditional. All of these are his, but not to their full extent, not _really_. Not until he provides an heir for the family. As their only child, it is his absolute responsibility to continue the family name.

Draco strides across the room and sits in his usual place. The bar wraps around, leaving two stools that face the door. This is where he sits, in the corner, back to the wall, facing the door. It's a strategic habit. Always position yourself with an advantage. Every patron that walks in the door is in his unobstructed view. Unless of course the place is packed to the rafters, but that is rarely the case.

No, Draco's favorite hunting grounds are never "packed". They are well patronized, but also calm. The majority of the muggles here are successful (by muggle standards). This is the place financial advisors and lawyers meet with colleagues, everyone is apt to have "an important call, sorry, gotta take this", and most important, the women are spectacular. Career oriented, well groomed, and every bit as interested in a detached relationship as he is.

When the subject of marriage is broached in the Malfoy household, words like well-bred, elegant, and proper spill from his Mother's mouth. He is currently (though not very actively) courting a girl from the houses of both Greengrass and Parkinson. They know of each other and compete for him with poison laced smiles.

Draco is careful to give neither any inclination he leans their direction. They are both equally vapid, shallow, haughty, and artificial.

Daphne Greengrass is the more attractive of the two. Truthfully, she is a beautiful girl. But Draco doesn't dare tell her. Or touch her. The Greengrass family has been plotting with his own since before he could talk to join their families in an arranged union. If there is anything for which he is grateful in concern to his father, it is that the elder Malfoy deigned to leave the subject of marriage to Draco's own choosing. No doubt he further assumed he would indoctrinate his son enough to choose the most profitable and pure partnership, but regardless leaving Draco free of that particular oppression. The Greengrass family, however, was not deterred and have groomed their eldest to pursue him mercilessly.

Pansy Parkinson is far worse. Draco made the youthful mistake of showing interest in the girl while they still attended Hogwarts together. And then the unthinkable: He slept with her.

They were children really. It was nearly a decade ago now. It happened once and never again. That was before the war. During which time, Draco was far too…distracted to give her another thought. The stress of having one of the most powerful wizards of all time crashing in your spare wing, making demands of you under penalty of death, made issues like "Pansy is clinging" fall away from his mind.

He skirted her, and really the topic of an "acceptable match" until he turned twenty. His Mother started in at that time and began to intervene on his behalf. By twenty one, she had roped him into at least one date with no less than 15 pureblood witches. As vapid and hollow as Pansy and Daphne are, they were, to his dismay, the best of the lot. And he knew them from childhood so… there's that.

Now twenty three, Draco is grateful for every day that he manages to avoid making the choice. His Mother thinks he is terribly torn between two such pure and respectable families. Or at least that is what he has told her and he assumes she believes him. Maybe she doesn't but in any case she has given him his space for the last couple of years.

So what does he do with that space? Between cold and removed evenings spent "courting" the two aforementioned girls, he is here.

A leggy redhead walks through the door and scans the room briefly before making her way down the bar and sitting on a stool to Draco's right, before the bend of the corner so she leaves separation, but is nearly close enough to touch. She orders a "Crown and Coke". Draco has been frequenting muggle locations long enough to no longer be confused by their various concoctions. Muggles have a vast and delicious selection if they wish to imbibe. More vast than the wizarding world admittedly. And it took him a _very_ long time to admit anything of the sort.

Draco throws back his remaining scotch (neat) and holds up a single digit, indicating to the bartender to bring another. A glass is placed before him then the bartender hands the dark, ice-filled, drink to the woman and she sighs into the rim as she takes a sip.

"Long day, hmm?" It's not an amazing opening line. Draco's tired, it's late, and a woman alone at this time of a week night is either interested… or she's really not. This should be a quick transaction.

"A bit long," she agrees with a small smile and blue eyes moving to meet his. "But this," she tips the glass in his direction, "makes it much better."

He smirks one corner of his mouth and gives a tiny nod in agreement. Solidarity. Yes, we think the same about liquor. We're practically old friends.

A nod can say a lot.

Their banter is light and simple. She asks him name. He makes one up. Telling muggles his name is Draco has met with anything from laughter to disbelief. Ironic that he has to lie about his name for women to think him genuine.

In the end, he takes her "home". Home meaning a little muggle flat he keeps for just such engagements. Posh enough to allude to success but simple and sparse since he only sleeps here on occasion. Afterward, she doesn't ask if he'll call. She knows better. Successful, career oriented woman who walked in late to a posh bar? She was the perfect mark. Or perhaps he had been her mark. Either way, the game is over and Draco, satisfied in a physical way, returns to the wizarding world for another week of business meetings, aloof conversations with his mother, and dates with Ms. Greengrass and Ms. Parkinson respectively.

Hollow is an apt word.

 **A/N I have been passionately devouring the plethora of dramione on this site and am happy to finally dig into one of my own. This will be a multi-chapter though I'm not sure how many. I have about 6 more chapters prepared and will update relatively quickly, but want to always remain ahead of my updates to allow for edits and changes. I can definitely see this going into 20 chapters or more if I keep the pace I'm seeing from the next few. I am anxious to read and thank you in advance for reviews.**


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione Jean Granger, brightest witch of her age, war heroine extraordinaire, the brains behind Harry Potter's "golden trio", one of the Wizarding world's most accomplished young Ministry employees…

Is running very, _very_ late. At least by her own standards.

Hopping on one heeled foot, trying to slip her toes into the red pump's mate, is simultaneously trying to pocket her wand, open a door, and utter a streak of expletives all while holding her purse strap between her teeth.

It's impressive really, to watch. And amusing if anyone was around to see. Her cat however is her sole audience member and Crookshanks finds very little to be amusing.

Finally righting the shoe, stowing the wand, and flinging the door open, she rips the purse strap from between her teeth and huffs in relief and exasperation, forcing the curls of unruly hair out of her eyes with the puff of breath ( _which was exactly the idea thank you very much_!).

Stepping into the hall outside her flat, she is the picture of poise she always intends in public and walks with a confident stride, calculating quietly how much time she can make up on the way to her destination. _Not much_ , she muses but really, she is only 5 minutes behind her intended schedule.

She just really hates being late.

Hermione has settled these past few years in a quiet building that accommodates Wizarding citizens, yet sits at the edge of the muggle world. Her position at the Ministry requires a great deal of time spent between the two worlds so it suits her particular needs well.

After the War (The Wizarding War? The Great War? The Fall of Voldemort? Jury is still out on the official title) Hermione was approached by the newly appointed Minister Shacklebolt and offered a position in one division to increase cooperation between the Wizard and Muggle worlds. Many had been struck by the sheer absurdity that the Magical population, a fraction of the overall world populace, had faced near destruction in Britain with virtually no contact from the Muggle governments. Many thought that might have been a blessing. Muggle weaponry is vast and indiscriminate. A few very fearful Muggles could have potentially wiped out The Dark Lord and his supporters with no regard to the witches and wizards in the way, effectively decimating their population. Others felt some grenade launchers might have been pretty effective at the Battle of Hogwarts where the participants lined up like pawns on each side of a chess board and shot lightning bolts at each other ala American War of Independence style.

"Trench warfare" didn't occur to either side. Odd, that.

Hermione in particular works with a Muggle law firm that assists the Ministry with prosecution in cases that cross Muggle/Wizard jurisdiction while still practicing discretion amongst the majority of the muggle population. Most of her co-workers downtown have very little actual understanding on their cases, keeping the Magic aspects on a strictly need-to-know basis. The partners, junior partners, and Wizard contacts (aka Hermione and a select few others) are the only people aware of the true details involved.

A wizard hurts a muggle with enough witnesses to require proper reparations? Hermione works on the plea deal. A muggle acquires a magic artifact through less than legal means? Hermione's team steps in to make sure the defendant is prosecuted in a muggle way while also paying damages to any injured party quietly on the Wizarding side.

Most days, it's admittedly pretty dull work. But it pays well (not that Hermione is in terrible need of galleons thanks to her part in the war) and she has a daily toe-dip into the world of her childhood while not having to give up anything about her magical one.

She has been with the firm now for over 5 years. Weekends are typically spent visiting with Harry and Ginny (now Potter, formerly Weasley), on occasional dates of both magical and muggle nature (no preference yet determined), or curled up with a few books, a bottle of red wine, and her cantankerous cat.

She is fully aware that her routine is stale but no one would dare accuse her of such, especially herself.

Harry and Ginny are dear friends but her estranged relationship with Ginny's brother after their romantic entanglement came to an end has left some of their conversations awkward.

Her dates of late have been… acceptable. A couple of repeat offenders managed to make it to her flat but not more than a few times. A three month fling with Seamus Finnigan had been a nice diversion but she always felt he was holding back somehow. She wasn't sure if she had trust issues after things ended with Ronald Weasley, or if Finnigan personally struggled with openness and commitment, but either way it was lacking and ended friendly but abruptly.

The books and wine treat her right. Thank Merlin for that. The cat could improve his attitude but she loves him so she lets that go.

Tonight her destination is a bit of a rarity. She is meeting with the eternally nice and eternally friend-zoned "Dave" from the office. He'd been asking for weeks. She'd run out of excuses.

Stepping from the street into the doorway of a nice little pub close to both her flat and their office, she checks her watch and grins a little.

8:01.

Four minutes salvaged on the way to meet her friend. A phrase pops into her head that probably describes a lot more about her life than the current time, and with only a little bitterness.

Not bad.

XXX

Sometimes, Draco would swear the bars he frequents save him a seat.

Sauntering in to what he would probably classify his third favorite pub (the first being last Tuesday's locale with the tantalizing, and delightfully un-clingy, red head), he finds a perfect stool at the end of the bar, back to the wall, facing the door, and smirks in his approval of the cosmos.

It's crowded tonight, more than usual. It's Friday and the young Malfoy rarely finds himself in muggle London on a Friday. Too many gaggles of flirty but ultimately cock-teasing girls, clusters of testosterone heavy male groups fighting for the few potential "ladies", and way too long to get a drink.

But today was exhausting so he decides that 1. Not all girls are teases, 2. He can school any muggle boy here, and 3. Patience, as they say, is a virtue.

Plus he's already a half bottle of vodka in when he arrives so waiting for a drink seems somewhat trivial.

"Could I get a Guinness here, mate? And a martini, dirty." A dark haired muggle is leaned too close to Draco's personal space for his liking, begging the bartender's attention. He glares at the man, trying for intimidating to entice him to bugger the hell off. Unfortunately, the man doesn't seem to notice, eyes trained on the drinks being made, then darting quickly toward the door, searching.

 _Waiting for someone_ , Draco thinks. _A woman no doubt._

He wonders idly if the martini is for him or the mystery lady.

When the bartender brings the 2 drinks, he points in Draco's direction, indicating he will get his drink next.

"Scotch," he says loudly, trying to make his voice carry over the din of the bar. "Macallan."

The bartender nods his understanding and moves away to collect the liquor.

He returns with the drink in a tumbler with a slight amber tint to the glass. Draco tips it up and tastes his drink, eyes scanning the room. His gaze finds the annoying muggle with personal space issues and notices the man as he stands, focusing across the room to the door.

In the entryway, a petite young woman with a cascade of dark honey curls smoothes the skirt of her white sundress, looking down at herself to check that she is presentable for her date.

Then she looks up and sees the annoying muggle smiling and gesturing to her. Her pink lips stretch into a sunny smile. A beautiful, open, sincere smile.

Draco _knows_ that smile.

He curses and looks away, turning his body as not to be seen by the woman who just entered the pub. _His_ pub. Not really his but dammit he's been coming here for months. Who does she think she is?

"Hermione fucking Granger", he mumbles.

He hasn't laid eyes on the witch since his trial. Maybe the odd photo in the daily prophet but even that is not common. Her redheaded ex-boyfriend, that git Weasley, practically begs for coverage. But stories about Granger usually involve a lot of her quoted with "No comment" or the writer snidely observing "Ms. Granger was not cooperative in speaking with this reporter so we must draw our own conclusions."

At the trial, she did not speak. Barely looked his way. When Potter spoke on behalf of his Mother ("She saved my life!") and himself ("Draco Malfoy was forced into this since he was a child and, in the end, he made the right choices when he could"), Granger had stared at Harry with sad, yet blank eyes.

Draco is under no illusion that his family wasn't a hearty piece of why she looked so desperately sad. When she finally glanced from Harry and looked his way, she had tried, impossibly, to give him the smallest smile of encouragement. It made him flinch with self-loathing and he could not hold her gaze.

He never wanted to see those haunted eyes look to him again.

Now here she is, giving a quick, chaste hug to Annoying Muggle. Draco is watching through his lashes, keeping his body closed and turned slightly away. She sits and picks up the Martini and takes a sip. Nodding approvingly and passing it to the man, she takes the Guinness now and settles into her chair. _So the martini was for him then? Never pegged her a beer drinker._

They talk for a while and Draco continues his quiet observation. A blond with a low cut top and too-red lips moves to stand near him, "accidently" brushing his shoulder. He barely even registers; just gives a polite "No problem" to her lash-batting apology. He doesn't notice when she scoffs and moves away in a bit of a snit. She could tell him he bedded her five weeks ago, but he wouldn't be listening if she bothered.

Annoying Muggle makes plays to touch his date at every opportunity. A nudge on the arm, grazing fingers across her hand… Hermione, for her part just smiles, sweet as pie, but moves her hand away and shifts her arms from his reach. Draco is coming to the conclusion this is not exactly a date.

His suspicions are further enhanced when she moves away to get her own drink from the bar and does not offer to fill his mostly empty glass.

"Could I get an Oatmeal Stout, please?" She places her empty glass on the bar and watches it disappear and a new clean pint fill with molasses-black ale. Draco watches as she thanks him and leaves muggle paper money on the bar. She turns and begins to step away when she does a nearly comedic double take. Her brown eyes bore into his grey ones and he instinctively braces for what comes next. The hatred. The panic. The distaste.

Or Merlin help him, the sorrow.

Instead, her eyes narrow a moment before they widen and she moves down the bar toward him.

"Draco Malfoy? I-wow." She shakes her head in disbelief and then the single most amazing thing Draco has ever seen: She grins.

"It's been forever! What in the world are you doing here of all places?" She leans in conspiratorially with a devilish (and dare he say _delicious_ ) grin. "I didn't think you'd be caught dead this side of Diagon Alley."

"I… excuse me, what?"

"Here, in" she leans even closer and looks to the right then left and finished in a soft whisper, "Muggle London. You were a bit of a purist as I recall."

Draco is dumbstruck. The sheer understatement of what she has just said…

Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater (regardless of how much he detested it all by the time he got out), the bully who taught her the magical world's ugliest slur, hailing from a family of bigoted traditionalists, his Father serving a life sentence in Azkaban for his part in the war, his friends, if he can even call them that, all a sad collection of Usual Suspects and recovering criminals.

A _bit_ of a purist?

He laughs from the surprise of it. It feels amazing to have an honest laugh and he rewards her the favor with his most dazzline grin.

Leaning back a little, body language open and free, he tips his drink towards her in a silent toast. "You could say that yes. But time changes all things and I find aspects to be quite agreeable."

"Like?" She leans against the bar and takes a deep drink of her stout.

"Like this pub for instance. Much better than the Leaky, yes?"

She laughs a little, "To say the least. Centuries of potion making and limitless power and the best we come up with is Firewhiskey?" She scoffs at the travesty.

Draco makes no small note that she refers to the wizarding world as "we". Like it includes them both, in the same universe. Together. Her open attitude is like oxygen and sunshine. He can't believe she would let him breathe in her air.

More surprising that he is so delighted by it.

"Firewhiskey is alright." He leans in as she did towards him. They are now inches apart and he smirks. "But muggle Whiskey is better." He grins and takes a sip but doesn't sit back.

She rests her cheek on her hand, elbow on the bar supporting it. "Anything else? That you like about this world I mean?"

He thinks to say, "Finding you here." But stops and sits back, shaking himself from this spell (pun intended). Instead he answers, "You're being surprisingly civil, Granger. Are you sure you recognize me?" His face is a mask of indifference but he hopes she can't hear his heart race.

She starts and asks, "You mean because of Hogwarts? Please… we were all of twelve." She waves her hand flippantly. "I mean unless you're still touting that blood purist nonsense but I assumed you may have grown up being here in this pub, wearing _jeans_ for Godric's sake."

"No of course not. Not after… everything." He feels like he wants to say more. Apologize even.

 _I'm sorry you bled on my parlor floor, my family torturing you into choking screams. I'm sorry I spat the word Mudblood at you when I was barely old enough to know what it meant. I'm sorry I called you ugly and hexed you and made fun of your, now that I really look at it, startling beautiful hair. I'm sorry for the first few years I meant it because I was an awful little prick. I'm sorry I didn't regret it enough later to stop. I'm sorry lying to Bellatrix about who you were was the closest thing I could come to courage. I'm really fucking sorry…_

"I'm sorry, Granger," is all he can manage. He doesn't know why but the compulsion to say more, to be specific is drowned by an inexplicable need to move forward. To bring her only peace.

Her warm eyes look back at him and for a moment they flicker with something he can't read. Then they clear and she smiles again. "I forgave you before you ever thought to ask, Malfoy. For myself more than you. Can't hold on to childhood rivalries forever." She winks.

 _Childhood rivalries?!_ Again he is floored by her… maturity? He's not sure that's the right word. More like she's a complete nutter but he thanks the universe anyway. If this girl can forgive him, perhaps there's hope yet for his tarnished soul.

He raises his glass to her again, keeping the relaxed façade and somewhat blank face. "As much as I enjoy catching up, I feel I must point out your date looks rather vexed."

Hermione glances over her shoulder and gives Annoying Muggle a little wave and holds up her finger in the universal indication of "give me a moment please". Draco feels there is an underlying subtext of "don't come over here because I don't really want to introduce you but I'm not going to completely blow you off and I know you'll wait for me because really, you're you and, well, _look_ at me."

A lot can be said with one finger. Draco might have taken liberties with the last bit.

Granger turns back his way and rolls her eyes but with no real hostility. "Not a date really. He'd like it to be but I have to work with the man and I have a strict policy against office dating."

"You work with muggles?"

"For the ministry but yes. I'm part of the WMC, law division." When he simply raises an eyebrow she clarifies, "Wizarding Muggle Cooperation."

"Ah. I heard something about that. The trade and manufacturing division helped broker a deal for Malfoy Industries. Muggle finance is quite a machine."

"The muggle world is huge. So much potential really. In business, medicine, technology… I guess it took a war to nudge everyone into the next century." Her eyes are distant for a moment. He imagines she is thinking of the war and doesn't press her to continue.

"Anyway," she takes another drink of her beer, "it was great to run into you. Always nice to see someone from school. But I guess I should cut Dave a break and get back." She gestures with her thumb to good ol' A.M. and starts to back away.

"Good to see you, Granger, bushy hair and all." There is no malice in his tone or his soft eyes.

She nods again and smiles, the joke an understanding between old friends. No offense taken.

Draco downs the rest of his scotch as she walks away and grabs his jacket to leave. Whatever he comes here for, seeking something between the thighs of women whose name he barely cares to know: Distraction? Absolution? He's not sure but he thinks he just got something better. He apparates from the alley around the corner back to the Malfoy Manner and sleeps a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione wakes to a lazy Saturday with a mild headache (nothing a little hangover potion can't cure) and a satisfied smile.

The evening previous with Dave had been a nice little one off and she thinks she finally got him to realize that's all it would be. A quick kiss on the cheek for his efforts was all she allowed before she retired to her flat and finished her night with a few chapters of a muggle book about dragons, kings, and walking corpses.

But most importantly, she had checked off one of the line items on her imaginary list of tasks she hopes to complete: She made nice with the Slytherin bully who had so tormented her and felt absolutely wonderful about it.

He was nothing like she remembered, but then it had been, what? Five, Six… Seven years maybe? She can't really recall but quite a while. He wasn't much of a feature the last couple of years at school. Hell, _she_ wasn't really much of a feature their last year, traipsing around with Harry and Ron playing hero. That time of her life is such a blur really…

Best not to think of sad things.

Moving into her cozy kitchen from her cozy bedroom, through the cozy living room, she makes herself a pot of coffee in her single-serve coffee maker and toasts a slice of wheat bread for a quick breakfast.

"Good morning, Crooks." The cat looks up from its vigil over the empty food bowl with a look that could only be described as tolerance. "Hungry, darling?" She fills the bowl and turns to leave the room when a tap on glass stops her.

She crosses the room and opens a window, letting a small owl tumble in. "And good morning to you." She gives it a treat while removing the scroll from its leg and ruffles its feathers affectionately before it flaps back from whence it came.

' _Mione_

 _Ginny and I were having brunch today and wondered if you might want to join us. We thought maybe at Jackson and Rye? Floo over if you're free and we can go together._

 _Harry_

Well, it's not as if she had anything else to do today.

Two hours later she is showered, dressed, and stepping out of a white brick fireplace into Harry and Ginny Potter's parlor. "Hey, Gin, Harry, you two here?"

Ginny pokes her head in from around the corner. "Hermione! So glad you could come with us. I'm absolutely dying for that avocado Benedict and we haven't been in ages."

"Where's Harry?"

"Here and ready to go." Harry enters shrugging on a light jacket and hands one to Ginny as well.

"Honestly, Harry, I don't need a jumper. It's nice out." She looks to Hermione and smirks, one eyebrow raising. "Who knew he'd be more of a nag than Mum." But she puts on the light knit anyway and takes her husband's offered arm.

Hermione follows the couple, smiling at their backs and wishing a tiny wish to find the fulfillment they have in each other. Not necessarily marriage. Not even a man per say. Just that intangible something she knows she used to feel but isn't sure when she lost it. Reading and researching and learning magic and experiencing the world used to be enough.

She's not sure why it's not anymore but a piece is missing from her life puzzle and she would thank fate or God or the cosmos or whoever very kindly to give it back please.

She shakes off the encroaching melancholy and replaces her expression with a serene smile and almost believes it to be real.

In the restaurant, Ginny's smile is wide as she tucks into her plate of eggs, oohing and ahhing over the "most amazing hollandaise, oh my God, Hermione you have to try this!"

Hermione has responsibly ordered a kale salad, taking pride in the smart choice of healthy superfoods. Then she rewarded that smart choice with a peach bellini.

"So thank you for coming out with us today, Hermione." Harry is oddly clipped and almost awkward.

"Thank you for inviting me, Harold." She quirks her mouth into a smile, mocking his polite tone.

Running his hands through his hair he laughs a little. "Sorry, I'm rubbish at all this…" He looks like he wants to say more and can't remember any words, or like he's lost at sea without a sextant, or filling out really difficult tax forms. Hermione almost feels sorry for him, and rescuing her friend is second nature, but she doesn't even know where to start.

"I'm pregnant!" Ginny blurts it out with no ceremony and then takes Harry's hand and lowers her volume a bit sheepishly. "We're pregnant."

"Oh, Ginny, that's wonderful! Harry, I'm so happy for you! How long?"

"I'm just 8 weeks. But it's been great so far. I've barely had any morning sickness and cravings haven't really been anything weird. Juice mostly. I'm really _really_ into juice. We were thinking we would start telling everyone at 3 months but I just couldn't wait! We're looking at nursery colors and, oh! Maybe you could come with me to look at swatches? I just can't believe- I mean we were only trying for a few weeks and then BAM! Mum is just beside herself and oh you should see Dad..."

Ginny continues with barely a pause to breathe and Hermione nods at all the right times, squeals on cue, and keeps that frozen smile plastered on her face. She's not sure if she's a great actress or if Ginny is too keyed up to notice but either way they part with hugs and giggles and promises to "come 'round and see the crib they picked out".

Hermione lets out a breath when she finally returns home to beautiful quiet.

She's not jealous Ginny is having a baby. She's truly delighted for her friends. Truth to be told she's not even all that interested in being a Mother. Maybe someday but honestly nine months of feeling sick and heavy followed by another roughly nine months of bad sleep, followed by a decade of impertinent questions and constant mess? She's not that enchanted by the notion at this stage.

But that ache in her heart is palpable that something is missing. Harry and Ginny seem to have the formula all figured out. Find want you want and grab on. Harry is an auror, Ginny a healer. They're desperately in love, settled into their lovely home, surrounded by friends, family, and colleagues who adore and respect them. And now this. The first step into the white-picket-fence-two-point-five-children-house-in-the-suburbs perfect family.

Not jealous really. Just…wistful.

Hermione kicks off her shoes and flops down into a chair by her fireplace, picking up her book where she left off last night and casting a quick accio on a bottle of wine. So what if it's only three in the afternoon. She has nowhere to be.

"Hey, Crooks," she greets the cat as it saunters into the room. "Just you and me again tonight."

The cat seems to sniff before turning around and walking away.

She sighs and turns the page.

XXXXX

"I'm marrying Theo Nott."

"You're what?" Draco stops, a cup of black tea nearly touching his lips and stares at the witch currently sharing the small table in his family gardens. He sets the tea back on the saucer in front of him. "You hate Theo. Or at least, you've given every indication he is beneath your standards."

Pansy flips her black hair behind her shoulders and answers with haughty indifference. "Yes, well, my standards require a man who will actually marry me eventually and that seems to have knocked you from the running, Draco Dear."

It's true he has been stringing her along with no intention of actually proposing, but dammit he needs her. How else can he put off Daphne? Now he'll have to end his courting with her outright or move forward with (he shudders to think) an engagement. Or find her another witch as competition. The thought is exhausting.

Nonetheless, Pansy has been cordial and nearly a friend since he was a child. His elegant manners demand a more appropriate response.

"I apologize, Pans. I am happy for you both."

"Should I address your invitation with a plus one or simply include Daphne's name in tandem?" She says the other girl's name with a little bitterness, a little sorrow. Draco's just surprised she knows the word "tandem".

"That might be premature, love. I've no official commitment to her."

"You've _no official commitment,"_ she mocks _,_ "to anything, Draco. Some of us are ready to move forward. You might want to think about doing that too."

He grimaces and hides it with a sip of tea.

When he bids her farewell barely twenty minutes later, he finds he is utterly weary to think of what this will mean. His Mother will surely hear this new turn of gossip within hours and will have contacted the Greengrasses with "the good news".

Merlin help him.

He glances at the time, reading the face of an ancient grandfather clock that he found glorious as a child (wholly annoying as an often-hungover young man) and sees it is only four in the afternoon. What a waste of a Saturday.

Realizing his usual goal on the prowl in a muggle haunt was not fulfilled last night, and in fact has not been in nearly two weeks, he makes the decision to venture yet again into the city. It will be crowded again he knows but really, it's that or start picking wedding dates with Narcissa.

Draco leaves quietly and with haste.

He's not sure why he ends up in the same bar as last night. He tells himself it's because he was unsuccessful in his hunt (see also "gave it up when he felt sated in other ways"). A tiny, infinitesimal, itsy bitsy voice in the far reaches of his brain squeaks out "maybe you are hoping to see _her_."

Ridiculous.

He tells that little voice to stuff it.

Yet when he parks himself in the same place as the night before, his eyes wander to the table Hermione had shared with, what was his name?.. Oh yes: Annoying Muggle. He orders an oatmeal stout, inspired by her choice from the previous night, and remembers the malty smell on her lips when she leaned in coyly to ask why he was here.

An hour and 2 pints later, he's no less than stunned when suddenly she is in front of him, adorable in a little blue wrap dress, cheeks a little flushed from drink, and smiling that dangerous, enticing, sunny smile.

When he returns the smile with little reservation and no thought to her lineage, her blood status, her know-it-all attitude, or her friends, only thinking of those warm brown eyes, he knows he's in trouble deep.

 _Fuck me._


	4. Chapter 4

"Well this is just ridiculous."

Hermione is exasperated at herself and flings her book from her lap to land on the coffee table with a thud. "I'm going out." She supposes she's talking to Crookshanks. The fact that he's not in the room doesn't really bother her. A quickly consumed glass of wine (or two) helps things not bother her. She's far from drunk, but just in that warm happy place where everything seems a little less tiresome.

Why waste a perfectly good Saturday? She briefly thinks she could call someone to join her. _Not Ginny I guess_ , she thinks with little mirth. Luna? She's not sure she has the patience tonight for Nargles and Dadderblimps. Her thoughts take a quick tour around Ron in her head and the little sadness is nearly enough to kill her lovely little buzz.

She doesn't miss having a relationship with Ron, but she does miss _him_. Just the friend version of him she thought she would always have.

Breaking a boy's heart doesn't always go the way you want.

She remembers that last day they spoke and her eyes go to glass briefly.

 _I know you don't love me, 'Mione. Not like I love you._

 _Ron, I'm so sorry. I love you but…you're right. It's not the way I thought._

 _I know. I'm not stupid I just hoped… Anyway I understand, ok? I don't hate you or anything I just- I guess I just don't think I can be friends either. It will be too hard._

With practiced ease she snaps herself back to the here and now and blinks away the moisture.

 _I don't hate you or anything…_

He doesn't hate her. That gives her comfort and she looks up with a confident gleam.

"I can go alone. I'm capable of going alone. For a drink is all. Maybe see if anyone is around." Even talking out loud to her cat (aka herself), she is unwilling to admit she might just possibly, maybe, br hoping to see a blond Slytherin with the initials D.M.

Ridiculous.

Nevertheless she is out the door by five and headed to the same pub she visited the night before.

And then he's there.

Impossibly, he is sitting… Right. There.

He hasn't noticed her walk in and he still doesn't look as she approaches. By the time he looks up, she is standing nearly close enough to touch and her cheeks feel warm as his grin touches his eyes.

"Well, well, two nights in a row, Mr. Malfoy? What _will_ pureblood society say?" She's teasing and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Her comfort with him is oddly absolute. He seems a little startled by her comment at first but recovers with break-neck speed.

"Let's not tell anyone then, yes?" He looks around as if wary of spies in their midst. "But I hazard we won't run into many purebloods here so I think the secret is safe."

She giggles.

 _Gods, what adult woman_ giggles?

She doesn't have time to be embarrassed as he has risen from his seat and bows at the waist with a smirk. "My lady, would you like to join me at a proper table?" Then he stops and seems to consider, his whole demeanor changing, growing stiff. "Unless you are meeting someone of course." He tries to cover his awkward stance with a joke "Another not-date perhaps? Dave the muggle extraordinaire?"

She rolls her eyes and admonishes, "Be nice to Dave, he's sweet." She continues with a gesture to the tables, still relatively empty at this early hour. "And no it's just me tonight and I'd love to take a seat. Bar stools are less comfortable when you're not seven foot nine-hundred inches or whatever the hell you are."

He laughs and offers his arm. "I'm not that tall."

After they sit, he leans toward her and asks, "So no Dave then. What was your plan this evening? Hoping you might run into me obviously but besides that." He wriggles his brow with flirtatious suggestion and she laughs.

But of course she also denies it vehemently. "Pfft, of course not. I've never seen you in here before last night. How could I possibly know you'd be back?"

She catches the eye of a server running drinks to tables and points first to Draco's glass, then to herself, silently ordering her own drink. "Anyway I don't really have any secret plan tonight. I spent the day with friends, went home, and decided I didn't feel like staying in so here I am. You just happen to be lucky enough to have run into _me_."

"Oh is that so? I don't recall you being so full of yourself at Hogwarts, Ms. Granger."

"No but I recall you being full of yourself enough for both of us, Mr. Malfoy. Still are, I suspect."

"Perhaps. But I'm also terribly loveable and handsome."

"See. Knew it." She tucks a curl behind her ear and continues, "So what brings you here then? Is this your pub of choice? Surprised I've not run into you before now."

"Usually I frequent during the week. Less crowded. I just happened to find myself free this evening and, as yourself, did not feel like spending my Saturday in solitude." He leans in and grins, "So instead I think I might ask a lovely brunette to while away the hours with me."

Hermione feigns confusion and looks around. "Brunette? There's a dishwater blond in the corner. Or that brunette bloke at the bar then? He may have had his eye on you." She winks.

"You are far more fun that I remember."

She raises an eyebrow and cocks her head to the side. "I'm more fun because you're not teasing me. I would have always been nice if you'd been less of a prat." She wonders why he seems so hung up on their shared past. She's already forgiven him. Plus she's the one that punched him as she recalls. He must have a lot more guilt than she expected.

A pint is placed onto the table in front of Hermione and she pulls her bag from under her chair. Draco's hand touches her fingers lightly and she looks up in question.

"Put the lady's drink on my account please."

"Oh no, Malfoy, don't-"

"I insist. My Mother would disown me if she knew I spent an evening with a woman and didn't at least buy her a drink."

The server walks away in the middle of their discussion.

"Who says I'm spending the evening. I only agreed to sit at a table. Maybe I'm leaving after this pint, hmm?" She secretly hopes for more than a kiss on the cheek before the end of the evening. She knows him after all. It's not as if he's a stranger now is it? She justifies very easily when it suits her, logic her internal weapon of choice.

"You are free to leave at the moment of your choosing, Granger. I'll just have to make sure you don't choose to do so."

She smiles and bites her lip. "Alright then. You can buy the next round too."

Around their table, the pub slowly fills with its usual Saturday night crowd. Draco and Hermione talk for no less than six hours and never tire of each other. They enjoy a few pints between them but are far too enthralled with each other to pay much attention to their glasses.

Hermione is struck by how pleasant this former bully treats her and finds it easy to smile, to laugh. She finds an uninhibited joy that feels like an old comfortable pair of shoes, long ago lost in a dark closet. He doesn't ask anything too personal, never pries when she pulls back.

When he politely asks after her parents, Hermione frowns a little as she answers. "They moved to Australia. I don't see them much now." The smile returns as she continues, "It's mostly me and Crookshanks-"

"That wretched cat?!" He cuts her off but with mirth rather than malice.

"He is not wretched! Crooks is the best cat alive! And what about you then. Your family is well? Lucius and… Narcissa was it?"

He screws up his face a little as he answers, "My Mother is well thank you for asking. I don't see my Father much… of my own choosing. I can't imagine you wouldn't understand why."

She thinks for a minutes about his odd response, so formal compared to the way their conversation has worked its way to an easy comfort. But then yes of course, Lucius had been quite horrible to her and her friends…

Best to move on from that topic.

"So how do you spend your days? You mentioned you're with the family business. Very involved or you have some board or advisors or such so you can act the wealthy playboy?" She quirks her eyebrow and he laughs. _There, back to comfortable._ She makes a note that talking about his family is not a topic for polite conversation.

As the pub around them begins to empty and closing time looms, her only concern is to be sure this night might be repeated in the near future. Draco lays her fears to rest with a gentleman's charm.

"I must say, Granger, this was not at all what I expected to find this evening."

"And what did you expect, Mr. Malfoy?" she replies in turn.

"Meaningless, unstimulating conversation to simply pass another night with some random muggle equally as bored as I. How refreshing to find you instead. I must thank you for allowing me to monopolize your evening."

She offers a coy smile but also looks away, suddenly feeling almost shy at his attentions.

"Do you think you would object to another evening, maybe a more proper night? Perhaps with dinner included?"

"A date then?" He nods with an adorable smirk. "Yes I think I would enjoy that. You're clever you know. And sweet. Full of surprises. I'd like to see what else I might find about you."

He smiles at her now. Not the sneer of his boyhood, not the smirk he now often wears, but a bright and true expression of his satisfaction with her answer. He rises and offers his hand.

"May I see you home?"

She takes his hand and stands. "You may."

As they walk, they agree to meet again, next Friday evening after Hermione leaves her office. Draco promises to owl her with the details and, as they reach her stoop, brings her hand to his lips and grazes her knuckles with a chaste kiss.

In her flat, Hermione falls against the back of the door in dreamy satisfaction. That kiss on the hand… that most chivalrous and proper gesture… sent a warmth across her skin more than the most intimate touch by another man.

Next Friday, she thinks, she may dare pursue him more aggressively. She giggles unashamed and drifts to her bed.

 **A/N Thanks for the follows, faves, and reviews thus far. Every notice like that brightens my day and drives me on!**


	5. Chapter 5

Draco greets his Mother as she is taking her tea on a lazy Sunday morning.

"Good morning, Mother."

"Draco, dear, good morning." She sets her tea and saucer delicately on the small marble table and stands, offering her hands to him. He takes them and they lean into each other, giving a kiss to each cheek. "I heard about that horrid Parkinson girl. Imagine, accepting a Nott when you were obviously so taken with her. I suppose her loss is Ms. Greengrass's gain though."

Draco pulls back and clears his throat, slightly nervous. "Mother, I am not decided on Daphne either. There is… another witch I have agreed to see." He might be embellishing a little. Having one date scheduled on the horizon is hardly courting in the level his Mother expects but any competition will delay an assumed commitment to Daphne.

She freezes and cocks her head. "Another witch? Draco, darling, I'm starting to question if you understand how important it is that you settle down, that you sire an heir." She moves away from him and settles back in chair but continues to worry her hands and speak in that Motherly fashion that feels like home to Draco.

"I know you are young, probably imagine you have all the time in the world. But, at your age, I already had you, a household to run, society obligations… Darling, I know you think I'm being difficult and pushy but I thought you understood. You have responsibilities to this family. To the estate. And the Greengrass girl is such a pretty, well-bred little thing. She won't wait forever you know. You already lost Pansy to that Nott boy. How long before another pureblood family snatches her away too? The Zabini heir is still unattached. If his Mother has her way he will need to start getting serious soon. I mean, he's nothing compared to you. His name pales compared to ours. I know the Greengrass family would seek to marry with us before anyone else. But if you don't give her some indication, mark my words, she will slip through your fingers…"

Narcissa continues in this fashion, barely pausing for a breath, for nearly fifteen minutes. Draco half listens until her prattle moves to a question he is not sure how to skirt, cursing himself for not thinking this through.

"So who is this witch in question then? A Selwyn? Travers? Not that horrid Shardlow girl?" Narcissa shivers dramatically.

"She isn't horrid, Mother, just a little… opinionated. But no, not any of those."

He sits back and tries to put on an air of nonchalance. "Really, it's nothing to be concerned with yet. I met her on a trip into the city. She's not one who runs in our usual circles and we've only just agreed to one date. Nothing may come of it."

His mother starts to speak but he raises a hand to silence her. " _If_ nothing comes of this, you have my word I will become more serious in my pursuit of Daphne. I just ask you give me a few weeks to determine that." Draco leans forward and takes a sip of tea signally the conversation at its end.

"Alright then but I'll hold you to that promise, Draco. One more dalliance then you must make some decisions. I do hope this new potential companion is of good stock at least."

She doesn't notice his grimace as she sips from her cup.

XXXXXX

"Ginny? Harry? Are you home?" Hermione calls through the green flames and peers around the room looking for her friends.

Harry comes walking into the room and bends down to look into the flames. "'Mione, good morning!"

"Do you care of I pop over?"

"No of course not. Ginny was called in to St. Mungos today so it's just me." He backs away, allowing room for his friend to come in through the fire.

"Thanks. Are you busy?"

"No not at all. I told Ginny I'd meet her for lunch but not 'til 1:00. Everything alright?"

"Oh yes fine just… I had such an odd night and I just wanted to chat about it."

"Oh? Do tell?"

"I have a date. I mean I sort of already had one last night but officially I have one Friday."

"That's not that strange you know. You do go on dates from time to time." He laughs a good natured laugh before he notices she doesn't join in. "So this date is special because...?"

"Because you know him. I know him for that matter. It's Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy? How the bloody hell did you get together with Malfoy?"

"We sort of just… ran into each other. At a muggle pub of all places. And he was really _nice_."

"Wow. I mean he's always been polite… well civil at least… in any dealings at the ministry but _nice_? To you specifically?"

She laughs, "What's that supposed to mean? People can be nice to me, Harry Potter. I'm nice-worthy."

"Of course you are but… It's just not what I'm used to seeing from him where you're concerned."

"Oh please, that was years ago. I've changed. He's changed. He wasn't snarky and I wasn't defensive. Makes it easier to have a polite conversation."

"Defensive?! 'Mione you- I mean yes I guess you were but he-" Harry trails off and Hermione looks at him curious, waiting for him to finish.

Finally he sighs, seemingly resigned, and finishes simply, "I'm glad he was nicer. So when is this official date?"

She smiles happily. "Friday night. He's to owl me with details later. I think he's taking me to dinner. It feels like this great bookend to my relationship with him. I don't know what to expect from this but even if it's just one date it's great to come around full circle. I mean it was so silly, all that animosity for no reason."

She looks off and seems far away a moment. Harry looks as though he might speak but waits instead for her to continue.

"Anyway, it just seems poetic is all and I'm happy about it. Plus he's devilishly handsome." She winks and Harry chuckles.

"I really don't need to know more down that train of thought and will take your word for it."

"So you don't… disapprove?"

He scoffs, "like I have a right to approve or disapprove of your choices. I'd never presume to."

She gives him a pointed look.

"Ok but if I were to give an… opinion… then I would say I saw the sadness in him when he was made to grow up too fast and make choices he hated and…" He seems to want to say more but closes up quickly. Hermione notices he does that a lot when they discuss…

When the past is mentioned.

She's not sure why it's hard for him but somehow is grateful he stopped speaking of it.

"He's changed, that's what I mean. He's not a bad bloke really. Haughty. Bit of a prat, but decent enough."

"Thanks, Harry. I'm glad we're still friends you know, _after_."

"After Ron."

They both seem shocked he finished the thought. They dance around the details in conversation so much it's odd to have it thrown out between them. It feels like electricity dancing in the air.

She simply nods then recovers as always. "So anyway I just wanted to tell someone I guess. I'm kind of excited."

Harry smiles and laughs a little, "yes I can see. Stay for tea?"

She nods and he starts to turn. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"How is he?"

There is a brief silence. Not electricity now. More like the air is thick and pulls down on her heart.

"He's good, 'Mione, really good."

She nods again. "Good. That's… good."

XXXXXX

When Hermione makes it back to her flat, an eagle owl is perched on her window sill waiting. It's chest is puffed up and it is glaring down its beak at an equally haughty Crookshanks. Crooks is sitting in the middle of her dining room table, tail swishing in agitation, a low rumble in his throat.

"Oh really, Crooks, like you've not seen owls before."

She crosses the room and reaches out to the owl. It holds out its leg for her to take the scroll and then flashes a look at the owl treats, the bowl of which happen to be sitting just behind her cat.

"Yes, yes of course I always tip." She smirks at the serpent seal on the parchment and has no question why this animal is so entitled.

She gives the owl a treat… and then another when it hesitates in departure. Seemingly satisfied, it finally takes to the sky and soars with as much grace as its formidable wizard.

Unrolling the paper, she reads Draco's words as a smile crawls across her face.

 _Ms. Granger_

 _I would like to arrive at your residence on Friday evening at 7:00 if that would be agreeable. Please choose comfortable casual attire for a summer day. You need make no other preparation. I will take care of all other details. If I might be bold, might I suggest you wear your hair away from your face? Though I am fond of your curls, you will thank me for the comfort. Please send word if any of the details need amended._

 _Yours,_

 _D. Malfoy_

She hums in her own mind at his signature and tastes a word in her mouth. "Mine."


	6. Chapter 6

"Mr, Malfoy, I'm shocked! Absolutely beside myself."

Hermione circles him like a jungle cat, taking in his relaxed stance clad in a button-down shirt, open casually and revealing a simple cotton shirt beneath, and comfortable linen shorts. She stops circling to face him and cocks her head. "You're wearing shorts… _shorts_!"

A smirk, her only answer.

For her part, Hermione had chosen a comfortable cotton dress, white with delicate eyelet at the hem, thin straps and a natural waist. Even with his instructions that she would not need formal attire, she assumed with his background that "casual" only meant he might not bother with a tie…

Her hair, at his suggestion, is tied back low at her neck, though still a little unwieldy as her mane is hard to tame.

"Malfoys don't wear shorts. I mean I know you said summer casual but this is… I feel like I'm being tricked?" She crosses her arms and looks at him skeptically.

He laughs and offers his arm. "Just trust me enough to side along."

She loops her arm into his and instinctively leans into his frame. Looking up she smiles and says, "I trust you."

He hides the surprise he feels. "I'm not entirely sure why, but I'm glad you do. Hold on tight." The world falls away and they find themselves on a shoreline, the sun just dipping into the horizon.

"Oh, Draco, it's lovely here. Where are we?"

"Not far, near Sussex."

Looking around, she sees a table set up in the sand, a bottle of Champagne on ice, and a wrinkled house elf in a little bow tie.

"If sir and miss would like to sit, the first course is to being served most quickly."

Hermione gives Draco a look. "House elf?"

He can read her mind in regards to her distaste of the creature's supposed servitude but looks back unashamed and begins to lead her to the table. "Thank you, Tilby. Please wait a few moments to let us settle before you bring the first course." The elf is gone with quick bow a tiny "pop".

He pulls out her chair and she sits a little reluctantly with a huff. "Really, Malfoy, this doesn't bode well for our evening. You know how I feel about that."

"Yes, Granger, the Wizarding World at large is aware of your feelings on the rights of house elves. Rest assured, Tilby is happy. And not like my Father would have told you Dob-… not like our house elves used to be."

He watches her flinch as he nearly mentions the ill-fated elf who befriended Harry Potter. His instincts stopped him quickly but not before he saw that flash in her eyes; that ghost of her old sorrow.

Draco pulls the champagne from the ice, studying the flower painted bottle a moment before filling his date's glass. "They're free, all of them. Have to be with the new ministry laws. But they've been with us for ages and don't want to leave. So we pay them," he shrugs. "They don't want to take any compensation but we're tricky. Paying them in clothes or hiding things in their rooms. Keeps the ministry at bay, the elves happy, and witches with a soft spot with very little room to complain." He hands the glass to her with a smirk.

"Well… you were polite at least," she concedes, accepting the glass. "I suppose house elves need jobs too. Sorry I was short." The apology is grudging and Draco finds her nothing but charming.

He waves it off and fills his own glass. Lifting it, he offers a toast, "to you, Ms. Granger. And your magnanimous attitude that led you to accept my invitation tonight."

She clinks her glass to his with a small laugh. "What a professional toast, Malfoy. And thank you for inviting me. This is honestly just amazing."

He watches her as she stares out across the water. The golden light of the setting sun plays on her hair and sends light dancing on her skin.

When she welcomed him into her flat in that simple white dress, his breath caught at her natural grace. She needn't fuss with lace or beads, or entice with cleavage and high cut slits (though he certainly would not object to the latter). That cascade of rich curls falling down her back against the stark white fabric of her frock, the soft natural pink of her lips lightly glossed, everything about her is effortless yet without flaw.

She is silent now, lost in the sea, and he shakes his head a little, mumbling more to himself than her. "Gods, but you're beautiful."

She hears, regardless of his low tone, and looks back with a blush on her cheeks.

Tilby returns at that moment and places two identical dishes on their table simultaneously, one from each dexterous hand. "Miss and Sir please enjoy."

They look down at a course of fresh fish beautifully presented on simple white plates, highlighting the natural colors of the food. "Sushi?"

"Sashimi technically for this course. Tonight I asked for Japanese cuisine with a little French flare. I hope that suits you but if you prefer something else-"

"Oh no not at all! It looks gorgeous I was just surprised. You didn't strike me as being interested in more… exotic foods."

"Well you wanted more surprises from me tonight so here I present my first for your consideration: I am, as the muggles say, a foodie."

She laughs and he's never heard a more joyful sound.

Through courses two and three their banter is light and playful. It is only as a salad course is presented that some of the realities of their lives barge in. The champagne was replaced with subtly chilled sake two courses previous and Hermione feels a little emboldened.

"So aren't you supposed to be married to a pureblood princess by like age sixteen?" She is smirking in a teasing manner but Draco can't help but flinch.

He tries to recover quickly and basically succeeds. "Well if my Mother had her way yes. She has been… _suggesting_ ladies the past few years. And of course by suggesting I mean inviting me to locations where they await with their Mothers, my Mother and her maternal cohort subtly suggesting we be left alone, and then abandoning me to the primped vultures. It's tedious, thwarting her efforts."

"And none of these, presumably, beautiful and "appropriate" witches met your fancy?"

His nearly scowls in distaste but his instincts of self-preservation don't want to give quite so much away yet. "Well they are often beautiful of course, and groomed in all the elegant ways of society, and that Shardlow girl… she had a _delightful_ way of getting under my Mother's skin. That was a bonus."

He has been looking at his hands, studying his nails in put-on nonchalance. He glances up through his lashes and sees her glaring adorably.

Meeting her gaze, he leans forward to pick up his sake and whispers with a smile, "but of course they have all been a little lacking in one very important department." He winks, indicating some delicious secret and is amused as she rises to the bait.

"Oh yes and what was that? Not promiscuous enough? All that "good breeding" leave them a little cold for the Slytherin Sex God."

He laughs and ends the light torture. "No, their _conversation_ , Granger, of course. Shallow bints, every last one."

She smiles in spite of herself and picks up her own glass. "I appreciate the compliment, if that's how you meant it. But I wonder if you family will agree that my conversation skills make up for my lack of breeding.

His tone turns serious and he looks at her intently. "I don't much care if they do or don't. My opinion is that you don't need to make up for anything and my opinion is the one that counts." He studies her face, memorizing every curve, every freckle in the lightly dusted pattern across her nose. The silence weighs on him but not unpleasant. He thinks he could suffocate in her warmth, vanish into her eyes, and feel nothing but gratitude for it.

"Anyway, I have been successfully dodging my Mother's interference for years now. And currently, she knows I am seeing a witch I very much like tonight and any machinations she may have with other families will just have to be set aside."

"Can I assume she doesn't know who I am?"

"Details." He gives a winning smile. "I was always more of a big-picture bloke."

XXXXX

Hermione has never felt more alive, more satisfied, more beautiful, or more enchanted. The moon plays with the quiet water, tickling the tops of the waves. She walks, her hand dwarfed in Draco Malfoy's slender, strong fingers, and thinks of nothing but the chill of night, washed away with his radiating heat.

And she is grateful for his suggestion regarding her hair and the breeze tries in vain to whip her curls around her face, mostly failing but for a few loose strands.

"What I really wanted to know was about the whiskers. I mean, was it very strange to… feel things by your face like that?"

"I thought we agreed not to bring this up."

She laughs good-naturedly. "You may have agreed but my curiosity is much too strong. I want to know what it feels like to be a ferret."

He stops and she feels the tug of her hand. "Will you settle for how it feels to kiss one?" His smile is thin, daring.

"Not if you make me charm you into one first," she jokes, trying to alleviate the intensity.

He doesn't answer, only pulls her into him, placing his free hand on her shoulder, stroking the skin where her neck curves with barely any contact. She has no more quips, no more clever commentary. All Hermione can do is dart her gaze between his eyes and wait to see if he makes good on the hinted promise.

When he dips down to taste her lips, she tilts her chin up to meet him. Her heart pounds and the black skies call to her to forsake the earth. It is a delicate touch, no tongue, light pressure, her bottom lip pillowed between his.

They part and she breathes against him, his answering heat caressing her lips. "May I see you home?"

Her voice is a whisper. "You may."

Draco steps back slightly away from her but does not release her hand. He snaps with his other hand and Tilby appears before them.

"Are Sir and Miss needing something from Tilby?"

Draco's gaze never leaves Hermione's as he addresses the elf in a low voice, thick but soft. "Clear everything away, please. I'll be escorting Miss Granger back to her flat."

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir." The little elf pops away.

"Are you ready then?"

She nods her assent.

In a moment they are back to her modest home and she pulls away, pulling a key from the pocket of her cotton dress. Though a wizarding building, Hermione has lived near muggles long enough to have re-established old habits. And keys are smaller than wands anyway.

"Do you always allow men back to your flat on a first date," he teases.

She laughs a little as she opens the door. "Of course not. Not always at least." She looks back and winks before stepping over the threshold. "What kind of slag do you take me for?"

She steps aside, gesturing that he enter but he is already in the door and pressing her against the wall. He pushes the door closed with his foot and looms over her, grey eyes searching hers.

"I don't take you for anything less than exceptional, Hermione Granger. How is it I'm here with you?"

She looks up, the humor in her eyes gone completely. "You followed me home. I could kick you out if you prefer."

"Please don't make me leave," he mumbles into her lips. She is drowning.

"I won't."

Then his lips close on hers and she whimpers under the soft but urgent pressure. His tongue darts against her bottom lip and she needs no further hint to open to him.

As their kiss becomes deep and rhythmic, she realizes she is standing stock still and quickly relaxes into him, bringing her arms around his neck, one hand feeling the soft skin, stretched over tight muscle at the nape. The other threads into his white blonde hair and grips the roots to hold him in place.

Hermione feels his hands move from the sides of her face down her frame. One settles low and tugs her hip, forcing his pelvis hard into her body and she knows his full interest by the feel of his shaft pressed against her through their clothes. The other arm wraps around her and splays across her back, fingers grazing the skin above the top of her dress and she could nearly faint from the warmth of him.

She teases her hips in a soft grind and feels him moan against her mouth. Draco moves his own hips in accord, pushing her harder into the wall and moving his mouth down her neck, nipping at the curve of her shoulder. His hand leaves her back and trails her arm with a gentle touch.

All she can do is lay her head back gently and exhale his name like a prayer. "Draco..."

And he stops.

He has taken his hand from her as if burned.

Hermione looks up at this lovely man and sees something in his eyes, now bright silver but moments ago black with lust. She's not sure what she sees there but to her, it tastes bitter like rejection.

"What is it?"

"What the hell am I doing?"

Her heart beats faster in a much less pleasant way than before and her eyes narrow. But she doesn't speak. She can't begin to make a sound until he says something more, hoping for something less damaging than her imagination has already proffered.

 _What the hell am I doing touching a dirty Mudblood!_

She begs herself to be wrong, that he won't say such a thing.

Instead he backs away and she reads the look on his face as something nearly akin to fear. "You _hate_ me," he rasps out. "What the hell are you thinking?" He doesn't raise his voice. There is no anger there. Just earnest and passionate concern.

"That's absurd, I don't hate you. Where did this come from?"

His eyes dart down and she looks down herself but sees nothing of note: Only her disheveled summer dress and less-than-sensible white shoes.

"Granger I-". He stops and looks confused, running his hand through his silky hair. Vaguely she thinks he looks adorable with his hair mussed and knows he could make her crazy with want if only...

 _If only he'd stop behaving like a lunatic!_

"Malfoy, what the hell is the matter with you? If this is about school for the last time, I'm over it." Her eyes narrow as self-doubt creeps upon her. "Unless it's more about you changing your mind. Decide you can't sully yourself in the mud after all?" She nearly spits out the last sentence and sees him flinch.

"No I- No! I just... I'm sorry, I need to leave, I'll owl you. I…- Sorry."

And with that he is gone, the door slamming closed behind him and Hermione Granger slumps against the wall.


	7. Chapter 7

The massive eagle owl spots the cottage as the sun is just beginning to break over the horizon and swoops to the sill of a large picture window that looks into a warm and inviting parlor. It leans in and taps insistently on the glass.

After no more than 10 seconds, he taps again, louder, and with no small amount of irritation.

Fifteen seconds and he would be pounding if an owl could pound. As it is, the "taps" now shake the glass. _Rude, lazy wizards._

Finally a figure with mussed black hair comes running through the room with glasses askew on his face, trying to slide his second arm into a robe. He bangs his shin on the chesterfield on the way and curses loud enough for the owl to hear. _Serves him right, keeping me waiting._

When the window opens, he wastes no time in hopping into the room and settling on the high table against the wall where he has already spotted a bowl of owl treats. Maybe it seems entitled, but he knows his task and the reward implied. He takes a treat without it being offered and holds his leg out to the bespectacled man and waits.

With irritation, Harry Potter takes the scroll and shuffles the bird away. He's never seen an owl behave so… insufferably. It makes more sense when he reads the missive and discovers its owner.

 _What the fuck have you done to Granger? Come to the manor now._

 _Draco Malfoy_

XXXXX

Draco doesn't even speak when he finds Potter waiting in the west drawing room of the manor. Instead he stares at him intently and mutters a word under his breath.

Potter's eyes widen and then Draco feels himself shoved, mentally, away from the man.

Harry looks at him incredulously, "Who the hell taught you Legilimency?

"Snape. Who the hell taught you to Occlumency?"

"Severus," Harry drawls. The use of their old professor's given name is an obvious and petty play for one-upmanship but Draco is too subtle to rise to the bait.

Draco waves it off and continues, trying to calm his demeanor. "Fine then. You can just _tell_ me what the hell you did to her."

"What? Hermione? What is it you think I've done?" He pauses. "Wait, is she ok?" Suddenly he seems concerned instead of agitated. Draco takes note.

"She's- I don't know. She's not hurt I mean she's just. Argh!" Draco sighs and flops down with very little grace and hides his face in his hands. He mumbles, with utter disbelief, "She _likes_ me."

He looks up and his eyes are haunted. "She forgives me."

Harry Potter stands staring for a moment before taking the chair next to Draco's, only a small table between them. "Well… isn't that good? I mean, _I_ forgave you. Hell, I witnessed for you at your trial."

There is a short silence. "I mean I still think you're kind of a ponce." Harry offers with a small smile.

"Back at ya', Potter," he sneers.

"So why is her forgiveness so unbelievable?"

"Because it's _Granger_. I did horrible things in general I know. And don't misunderstand, I… appreciate forgiveness." He's loathe to admit it but it's true. Forgiveness is a drug he started to crave after the war. Not from everyone. Not from people he doesn't respect.

He rises and paces the room, forming words slowly as his thoughts piece together. "But it's… easier to forgive big things sometimes. To see what I went through and… and know I was stuck on the other side of a bad war… I really didn't _want_ to do the things The Dark Lord demanded. I hated him. As much as you even. Maybe more."

He stops and runs his hands through his hair and stares at nothing in particular as he continues. "But with her, I was just… I was fucking mean, Potter. And not because Voldemort demanded it. I was just…"

"An arsehole?" Harry offers.

Draco looks at him and regardless of his own soul searching manages to be annoyed by how easily Potter comes up with names for his behavior.

Harry continues thoughtfully, "You know, it might just be that 'Mione is a really good person. Better than me. Certainly better than you. She forgives, Malfoy. She's just…"

"Good." Draco finishes but then shakes his head. "But no, that's not it. It's something… I don't know."

Harry stands and walks closer to his former rival. "Look, I don't know what's going on with you two, ok? But she came to me a week ago nearly squealing like a twelve year old Hufflepuff. She seems quite taken with you. My advice? Stop beating yourself up with this self-loathing and concentrate on treating her nice. She forgives you? Drop to your knees and thank her for it. She deserves that and more."

He moves back to the fireplace across the room and scoops up a handful of floo powder. "But regardless I didn't _make_ her forgive you. There's nothing wrong with her ok? It's not even seven in the morning and my pregnant wife didn't appreciate your owl before the sky turned blue."

"Wait, Potter, I'm not finished."

Harry sighs in exasperation. "What is it?"

"Her scar. What Bellatrix carved…you can't see it. I thought it had faded or been healed but it's there. I _felt_ it."

Harry seems to think for a moment, his mouth screwed into a frown. Finally, just when Draco thinks he won't, he answers, "I hid it, years ago. She can't stand to see it ok? She probably thinks it's healed but no one could… not with that cursed blade the bitch used. So I just glamoured it. Last piece of advice? Don't bring it up. She's happier not thinking about it. That advice I strongly urge you follow." There is a hint of threat under his last words.

"Take care, Malfoy."

He tosses the powder into the flames and announces his residence.

Left alone, Draco retires to his room and falls onto the silk sheets of his bed. Maybe he is just being paranoid? He can't shake the feeling that there's more to it but decides sleep can only help clear his head. He just hopes he hasn't blown it with her if she really was as receptive as she seemed.

He groans in frustration as he realizes he just walked out on a willing witch. He'll have to grovel a bit later today.

 _Sleep first._

So he does.

XXXXX

Ginny Potter is levitating burgundy throw pillows onto her freshly made bed when she hears her husband return. She stifles a yawn and moves toward the sound, somewhat anxious, and finds him removing his shoes with a pensive expression on his young face. "Harry?"

"Hey, Gin."

"How did it go?" Ginny was stunned when her husband stumbled back to their bedroom, a scroll in his fist, and announced he was going to Malfoy Manor.

 _"Whatever for?" she had asked sleepily. "Wait, is everything ok?" She was awake then, fully, a number of scenarios playing out in her brain._

 _"I don't know. He asked what I did to Hermione. I have to go. We'll talk when I get back." And he had left, as quickly as he'd come, back out of the room and was in the manor within three minutes of receiving the note._

"Malfoy was convinced I'd done something devious. Thinks there's something wrong with 'Mione because she's so nice to him. Can't blame him really, for not believing it."

Ginny crosses her arms. "You're right, I don't blame him for being shocked. She _should_ hate him and he bloody well knows it."

"Yes well she doesn't. She looked happier last week than I'd seen in a long time."

"Well... good. So what did you tell the ferret?"

"I told him to stop looking a gift horse in the mouth and thank the Gods, the stars, and 'Mione herself every damn day."

"And if he doesn't listen?"

"Then he'll keep questioning and find only frustration until he can't take it anymore. Then he'll leave. Like Ron. Like Seamus. Like that muggle, Will."

Ginny looks away, unable to meet her husband's eye. "She didn't love them. I'm sure she doesn't love Malfoy either, but someday she might love _someone_. Then it will be harder if they leave. For her mostly."

"We'll be here for her then. We always have been. She'll be fine, Gin."

Ginny isn't convinced of that at all but offers a pleasant smile and moves into the kitchen, her thoughts buzzing.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione wakes and stretches her arms over her head, feeling rested but with an agitation nagging her mind. About something…

Oh yes, the end of the date.

Sitting up and swiveling her body so her feet touch the floor she allows only a moment to ponder and then shakes off the feeling and instead focuses on the dinner, the beach, the kiss. Really she doesn't know why she should be so upset. It was a glorious first date. Maybe he felt they were going to fast at the end? A gentleman really. She should be grateful he didn't pressure her into anything.

Not that any pressure would have been needed.

And, after all, he did say he'd owl her.

With a sigh she flops back on the bed, legs still hanging off, and closes her eyes, remembering the kiss on the beach. She would be content to lay and revisit that moment for hours, daydream about what could have been if he'd laid her down there on the sand, continued the kiss to the rhythm of the waves, his hands exploring gently, but insistent…

Brushing the skin of her thigh

Gripping her hip with his strong fingers

Trailing her jaw with suctioned kisses

Pressing against her with need

Nudging between her knees with his leg, desperate to be surrounded in her warmth, reaching down to find her heat, to find her ready, to claim her-

Crookshanks lands gracelessly beside her and paws her face with an irritated expression.

Can cats look irritated? Oh yes, Hermione would tell you, they absolutely can.

Sighing away the interruption, she greets him. "Good morning, Crooks. Hungry?"

The cat is in the door way looking back with impatience before she can even sit up and she smiles after her familiar. "I take that as a "yes".

XXXXXX

Draco wakes when the afternoon sun hits the window to his room, squinting and cursing the blasted orb for its unnecessary brightness.

Then he remembers the night before, not to mention the dawn of this day, and groans. He knows his one and only task today is to visit the witch of his affections and beg her to forgive him his rude departure.

Confident as always, and raised with the habit of throwing galleons at problems, Draco decides a gift would be appropriate. He needs a gesture to show his sincerity. He'll stop by Diagon Alley on his way; pick up something special.

Within minutes he is showered and dressed, strolling down the hall in his south wing towards the dining room, hoping to find his Mother at lunch. She will be relentless in her questions, and worse, snooping, if he doesn't give her a crumb of gossip. Just enough to keep her, and more importantly Greengrass, at bay.

His luck holds when he finds her at the end of their long mahogany table, large enough to seat 12 though it rarely sees more than the two of them. "Good morning, Mother."

"Morning?" She scoffs. "Draco dear, it's half-noon." She pauses and lifts her tea, trying to look unconcerned as she asks, "Can I assume your date went well?"

He smiles and gives back as little as he can to keep her on the hook. "It did, thank you. I believe I might like to revisit her company if she is agreeable."

"Well that _would_ be proper after bedding her."

He tries his best to look scandalized. "Mother I will have you know I slept in my room last night. Alone. She is a lady after all."

Narcissa, even with her years of masquerading as the doting wife while the Dark Lord ripped her family apart, has difficulty hiding her surprise. "Indeed? Well that is... I think that's very respectable, Draco."

He grins and knows he will be safe from Daphne for a time. If his Mother thinks he is happy, if she approves of his progress, she will hold back the harpy in her subtle ways.

"When will you allow me to meet with this girl?"

"When I deem she is more suitable than Ms. Greengrass and can therefore choose between them." He knows she is more suitable already as far as he is concerned but is not in any hurry to be marched down the aisle. He will keep his peace for now, allowing Hermione to replace Pansy in the chess game that is relationship with his Mother.

She seems mollified and takes a bite of the salad in front of her. She chews meticulously, then dabs the corner of her lip before she speaks again. "So what have you planned for this afternoon?"

"I thought I might visit the lady with whom I spent my evening. Perhaps bestow a gift, a token of my intentions." His Mother loves the tradition and propriety this suggests and perks up like a young girl.

"That's a splendid idea! I knew I raised you properly. Such a considerate boy. Not diamonds, Darling. That shows your hand too early. But nothing cheap either if you want her to think you genuine. Emeralds perhaps. Always a lovely choice."

"I was thinking a book actually."

"A _book_?" She frowns and wrinkles her nose in distaste. "I don't think a book is an appropriate overture at this juncture."

"You don't know her. She's a very accomplished witch. Well read. She would appreciate this type of gift."

Narcissa studies her son. "You've not given much thought to your gifts for Pansy or Daphne. I might suggest this witch has you more enthralled then you let on?"

 _Uh oh._

She's perceptive, his Mother.

He increases his flippant tone and waves off her mild accusation. "It's different courting a more intellectual witch. Daphne has many admirable qualities, beauty and poise in abundance, but she is very traditional and I respect that in gifting, presenting her with expensive finery. This woman just has different attributes."

"Not beautiful or poised then?"

He stifles a smile, "I didn't say that."

"Very well, Draco," she breathes in slight exasperation. "Keep your council. Just don't propose to anyone without telling me, yes?"

"I'd never dream of it, Mother. I'll see you later tonight." He rises, kisses her cheek and turns to leave.

Narcissa watches his retreat and allows a small smile he doesn't see.

XXXXX

"Draco! I didn't know I'd see you today." She beams at him.

"I-Well, I wanted to..." He doesn't know exactly what he should say. He'd come here, ready to beg; to fall prostrate at her feet. He was prepared to make her promises, empty or otherwise, whatever it took. He meant to be as open as he'd ever allowed with another witch… with anyone really, outside of his Mother perhaps.

 _I wanted to apologize for running out of here when I touched the scar on your arm. I'm sorry for how I used to look at you. I feel terrible for the pain you suffered because of me and mine. I'm sickened by pieces of my life._

But she already looks like she forgives him. Looks like she could jump into his embrace. Should that be enough? Shouldn't he apologize anyway? Potter's warning words swirl in his mind.

 _Last piece of advice? Don't bring it up._ Suddenly that sounds like brilliant advice.

He settles on an apology that doesn't dig too deep. No bad blood (pun intended) mentioned from the past. "I just wanted to say sorry for rushing off so quickly." He smiles his most charming and presents a package to her gallantly.

"Oh please you don't have to apologize. I was confused is all but I'm sure you had a reason. It was quite late. Oh, sorry, come in." She steps aside and he hands her the package before he crosses into the room.

"And you most certainly didn't need to bring a gift. Don't go thinking you can buy my affections, Malfoy."

He looks back to see her smirking. "Of course I can't. I already have them." He winks and makes his way to her chocolate sofa.

"See? Still full of yourself like I said. You haven't changed."

It's as though he's been slapped. He knows she doesn't mean anything by it. Nothing bad anyway. But Draco Malfoy _has_ changed. A lot.

It appears she has too...

"Sit, sit. Care for tea?"

"Thank you, no. Open it." He smiles and gestures to the package as she sits in the chair to his left.

Carefully removing the string and classic butcher paper style wrapping, Hermione looks at the title of the leather bound book quizzically. It is a modest tome with slightly worn corners. The front, blocky black embossed lettering, simply says "Memoir of Me".

She looks up at him in question, intrigued. "Memoir? Of whom?"

"Open the cover; there's an author's note."

 _Inside please be finding the story of Kisper._

 _In service of most honorable family Burke._

 _November 8, 1864_

"Is this written by...?"

"A house elf, yes."

Hermione looks up and nearly squeals, "Do you know how rare something like this is!"

He laughs, "By the price tag yes, very rare. House elves weren't permitted to learn to read or write for centuries." He pauses, watching her flip reverently through the pages, not speaking. A tiny anxiety creeps in for the first time knowing this is a very unconventional gift from a, dare he say, suitor. "Do you like it?"

"Oh, Draco, I- I love it. Thank you. Where on earth did you find it?"

He tuts, "Ah, ah, I can't give up my sources so early in our relationship."

At that her hands stop moving and she looks up at him with saucer-wide eyes.

"Relationship?"

"Well, yes... of some form or other. Unless you never want to see me again of course. I had assumed, after last night... well this morning was not as promising but..."

She smiles and the nervous look vanishes from her face. "You're cute when you're like this."

"Like what," he scowls petulantly.

Hermione shrugs and lays the book on her coffee table with the utmost care. "A little less cocky I guess. Anyway I understand what you mean. I'm not expecting a marriage proposal or anything."

She laughs at her own comment but he cringes, thinking of his Mother. Thinking of his expectations. Obligations. But also, feels relief at her casual and refreshing lack of presumption.

"But yes, relationship is a safe word," she continues. "Let's figure out what kind we might like then, yes?" She grins in that open way she has that could light the world and Draco smiles back.

"Thus the gift. Honorable intentions and all that. I find you a curious witch, Granger. I want to try to solve the puzzle of you. Plus you're easy on the eyes." His smirk makes her blush a little.

"I'm not really that complicated, Malfoy. But sure," she shrugs, "try to figure me out. You can start over an early dinner to which I'm treating you."

Draco starts to argue on instinct and she silences him. "None of that. It's a thank you for the book. I know you purebloods are traditional but really Draco I'm too modern for that nonsense. Consider it the first piece of your puzzle: I'll not be "kept"."

She stands and offers her hand which he accepts with only slight hesitation, drawn to her energy. "This time, you side along with me."

He groans, "I hate side along. Can't we use the Floo?"

"No, sir, not to a muggle place. Trust me, foodie, you'll like it."

He grins and takes her hand with more confidence, encouraged that she remembered the detail he had shared with her. "Lead on then."

The world sucks him away with its nauseating pull and he remembers why he likes to be in control of this form of travel.

 _Maybe I should purchase one of those muggle cars._

 **A/N**

 **So based on a couple of reviews and PMs I think everyone really wanted to see Draco humbled. In honor of, and in gratitude for, everyone who took the time to respond, I added a little more self-reflection from Draco to make his intentions unquestionably clear. He _would_ have begged, had she demanded it. But Hermione for curious reasons does not seem to demand much from him as of yet...**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N - I rated this M for a reason so be warned, a little lemon zest at the end. Next chapter we start digging deeper into the more serious plot. First, my Daphne scene which I enjoyed writing immensely. Hope reading it is equally entertaining!**

"Really, Draco, I will not take no for an answer this time. I will meet this witch that has you so enamored. Am I so meddlesome you don't trust me in a simple introduction?"

Draco has been seeing Hermione now for three weeks. Very little time really, in the grand scheme, but his Mother is aware that within those three weeks, he has seen her on no less than nine occasions, nearly once every other day. Ranging from the private dinner on the beach, to a book signing at Flourish and Blotts, to a simple lunch in a café next to her office building, he has been so involved with her he has not seen Daphne Greengrass since before Pansy announced her engagement.

And she has certainly been making the attempt.

At half-eight this very morning, the Greengrass owl had arrived with a note from his once potential intended.

 _Draco_

 _I will not be ignored in this way. Do me the courtesy of tea later today._

 _Daphne_

He knows this is not a request.

He had nearly owled back that he had a previous engagement but had ultimately sent back his positive reply. After only 20 days with Granger he knows he will never marry Daphne. Maybe Granger won't have him, maybe ultimately he won't have her, but there was nothing with the Greengrass chit that ever meant anything more than settling.

"Can we discuss this later, Mother? I'm meeting Daphne in a few minutes."

"Oh? Does that mean your courtship continues? Or is this her final fair well?"

"I think you are already aware. Coy doesn't suit you."

Narcissa laughs and covers her mouth with her delicate hand, falsely demure. "Oh Darling, of _course_ it does." With a swish of her navy robes, she moves to leave the room but pauses a moment at the entryway.

"Just do consider an occasion to introduce me, love. I'll not mention a wedding once; you have my word."

The sparkle in her eye makes Draco groan, imagining a thousand ways she could keep that promise yet still make him very uncomfortable.

And that's _after_ she calls his girlfriend a Mudblood.

Draco has little confidence in his Mother's ability to leave the Black family bigoted attitudes in the past. She plays nice with muggleborns when necessary. For charity balls and political events, she is the picture of reform and liberal views. But her phrases in their private home hit him like a bludger anytime he dares think she might accept his current romance.

 _I do hope this new potential companion is of good stock at least._

That early comment, the first day he spoke to her of his new courtship, had haunted him since. He can't put off their meeting forever, he knows. He just hopes to cement his relationship with Hermione enough that it won't matter.

Her forgiveness so far has been boundless, but _everyone_ has a limit.

Speaking of their limit…

At the appointed hour, and not a moment before or after, Daphne Greengrass arrives at the manor and presents Draco her hand so he might kiss it. He bows over it and just _almost_ touches it with his lips.

"It's nice to see you, Daphne."

"Oh, please." She takes her hand back and folds her arms. "If it was pleasant to see me you'd have owled days ago. I know Pansy is no longer a contender for your arm. Yet you've not contacted me. Can I assume she wasn't really the problem between us in the first place?"

He offers her a nearly sheepish grin. "You always were the more clever of the witches in my life."

Daphne rolls her eyes but there is a tiny smirk trying to come out to play. He knows flattery gets him everywhere with Ms. Greengrass.

He gestures that she head toward the double glass doors that open to the gardens and follows behind. He's not sure why he is trying to soothe her. Perhaps it is simply that he cannot abide a witch finding him to be anything less than enchanting.

A table has been readied with tea and cakes. A vase of yellow daffodils, a derivative of his Mother's namesake, tells him the Malfoy matriarch had a hand in readying the scene. How she always seems to know his next move he isn't sure but he smiles a little.

Pulling out one chair for his companion to sit, Draco then approaches the chair across the intricate wrought iron table and sits with casual indifference, crossing his leg over his knee. "You look well, Daph."

"It's only been a few weeks, Draco. Did you imagine I'd show up wrinkled and grey?"

"Of course not. Just being polite."

"Polite is something you give me in spades. Affection though? Interest? If Pansy is out that can only mean you have another witch on the hook. Who must I compete with now?" She pouts in a petulant way. Another wizard might find it endearing. Draco does not. His face is expressionless as he regards her.

Daphne leans forward and narrows her eyes. "You won't find an older, more pure family than mine. If previous encounters with other wizards are any indication I'm attractive enough. I've been raised to be a good wife, elegant hostess, and proper Mother." She leans back looks at him like she's trying to unlock a secret. When he makes no hasty response she presses on.

"Is it my dowry? Is my Father not championing enough on my behalf? I know my piece of the estate is larger than Tori's so he's already given me the lion's share of the inheritance."

Draco looks nonplussed then opens his mouth to speak. "You're Father has been more than generous. And you're right: You are attractive, elegantly raised, and I've no doubt you would be an acceptable companion."

He looks away into the gardens. _In for a penny…_

"But yes, there is another witch. And I'm afraid the truth is you simply can't compete."

"Who the fuck is she?" Her tone is venom.

"It honestly doesn't matter, Daphne. It's not her. It's you."

"Aren't you supposed to say something like 'it's not you, it's me'?"

Draco laughs. "Of course not. I'm quite comfortable with me. Daphne, I'm trying to be polite."

"Yes, _again_. Always polite. Always so sodding civil aren't you!" She has stood by the table and stomps her foot in a temper the likes of which Draco hasn't seen since fourth year.

He remains the picture of calm. "I won't marry you, Daphne. I don't enjoy our time enough to entertain that notion any longer."

She opens her mouth but it simply hangs open, gaping at him like a fish. Uncharitably he thinks he might have exaggerated her looks in his head. "I could put in a word with the Zabinis if you like. Blaise is very eligible."

" _Zabini_? Are you fucking serious? We are the sacred 28!"

"Ernie Macmillan then."

"A _hufflepuff_? Gods, Draco why not just set me up with a Weasley?"

He smirks, "I think they're all taken."

"Don't enjoy this quite so much, Malfoy. Wait until I train my wand on your little whore-"

With that Draco is on his feet with his own wand shoved hard into Daphne's jaw, his face inches from hers "I suggest you think really hard about retracting that and getting out of my sight. I've been almost sorry I don't like you enough to shackle myself to you. But I swear to Salazar you touch what's mine I'll hex your nether-bits to grow dragon teeth so _no one_ will touch you."

He releases her with a slight shove backwards and she nearly stumbles. "Get. Out."

With one last glance with now glassy eyes ( _Merlin, stop with the tears already_ ) Daphne Greengrass stumbles back into the manor and nearly runs to the floo.

Draco is only slightly surprised to see his Mother approach, having entered the garden from the west gate as Daphne fled.

"Well, I daresay _that_ engagement is off."

"It was never on," he grits out.

Narcissa places one light hand on her son's arm and feels some tension release under her touch. "Any obligation the Greengrass family might claim for time spent in courtship was relinquished the moment she uttered a threat at your intended."

Draco shifts his gaze, "That's presumptuous."

"That her family would seek restitution?"

"That the witch I'm seeing is my intended."

Narcissa just laughs as she pats his arm then walks away, shaking her head in bemusement.

XXXXX

"Could I ask you something?"

Draco looks down at his witch, nestled into the crook of his arm beside him. They are sitting together on his black chesterfield, Italian leather of course, flipping through the house elf Memoir he presented her after their first date. He must admit he has found it more intriguing than he would have thought. He purchased it purely due to her un-natural interest in the little creatures. But to read the words from the elf's perspective has been somewhat enlightening.

"You can ask me anything, love. I might even answer," he winks.

She smiles a little and snuggles closer but her hands are idle on the book and her shoulders are stiff.

She begins slowly, "Your family… I know there are…expectations. Are you…"

She takes a little breath. "Is this something serious do you think? Are _we_ serious?"

"That's not entirely up to me, Granger."

"Well no not entirely. But… fifty percent,"she offers.

Hermione never knew about Pansy. She never knew about Daphne. He certainly hasn't told her about the end of that latter relationship. Draco finds it inexplicable, the way he is drawn to his lioness. But to admit that?

Slytherin self-preservation is a strong thing. There is every possibility she will wake up one morning and ask how the hell she ended up involved with a Death Eater. There is an equal possibility his Mother will obliviate her only son to forget Hermione before allowing him to dirty their line with a muggleborn.

Usually an aggressor, physically, mentally, Draco has taken a very slow approach with Hermione Granger. During their heated first date he had been his typical forward self. Since that time, he has been uncharacteristically honorable.

Maybe it's time he changed that.

"You will find I don't invest time in pointless endeavors. I have some very serious designs on you, Granger."

He allows the gravel, the danger in his voice and narrows his black eyes at her intently. With hesitation that is mere theatrics, he lifts his hand from the book and brushes a lock of hair from her eyes. When she only looks back, lips parting slightly, he takes the book from their laps and lays it down on the table beside him, never looking away from her.

Turning his body fully to her, he circles her waist with his arm and pulls her head closer, his hand on the back of her neck. His mouth finds hers and the hesitation is gone. He devours her and she responds in kind, nipping at his lower lip and shoving her tongue as far into him as she can.

He pulls her down atop him, feeling no hesitation from her as she swings her leg over his waist, effectively straddling his hips in a lopsided way, laying half at his side.

His hands find her skin, her hair, finally exploring the more intimate parts he has only teased in past weeks. He palms her breast, perfectly soft, fitted to his hand like she was made to be his, and groans into her mouth. She is like a delicious meal, a wine to be savoured, but it's all he can do not to swallow her whole.

Hermione allows the slow foreplay for a time before becoming impatient, reaching down his frame and stroking his shaft through his trousers.

"In a hurry are you?" He teases her, mumbling around her lip between his teeth.

"Yes. _Gods_ , yes, you've made me wait for _ages_."

He feels himself twitch at the delicious desperation in her ragged voice and retakes her mouth. Those are the last words they speak until they are tangled together in his bed some time later, sweating and gulping air. Draco lays on his back, one arm looped lazily over her shoulder, holding her to his chest. His other appendages are splayed like a sacrifice. His breathing slows and he moves his free hand to cup her face, fingers threading into her hair, his thumb plays across her cheekbone.

"Was it worth the wait?"

"Hmm?" Hermione takes a deep breath through her nose and tilts her head up from his chest to peer at him in question."

"You said I made you wait. Was it worth it?"

She chuckles and hums her agreement. "I was starting to think you weren't interested."

"For the brightest witch of her age, that was a _very_ uninformed opinion."

They are quiet a moment and she is nearly asleep, her breathing steady and soft. "I am you know," he mumbles into her hair.

"Interested?"

"Serious."

He can feel her smile against his bare skin and drifts off with a matched expression on his lips.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N - Fair warning, a little juice left in the lemon here right off the top.**

Hermione wakes, delightfully spent, feeling the weight of Draco pushed against her own body, having taken the "little spoon" position sometime in the night. She smiles, remembering their first night together, still aching a little from her exertion. She snuggles into his frame with a contented sigh and wriggles her arse lightly against him.

"Don't start things you can't finish."

She hadn't known he would be awake, but feeling his length pressed against her bum, neither is she surprised.

She smiles, eyes still closed. "What makes you think I can't finish it?"

He chuckles softly into her hair then pulls her over onto her back. He has propped himself up on one elbow and looks down at her as she reaches up to trail her fingers across the cool skin of his shoulder, following the line down his arm.

She stops when she reaches his forearm and sees the faded ghost of a skull set as contrast to his alabaster skin. Immediately she jerks back and looks back at him, searching his eyes.

He looks intently at her face, frowning in confusion but she sees his eyes flicker to his own arm. He knows why she flinched. "Are you ok? It's… it's ugly, I know."

"I just forget that…" She stops, mesmerized by those familiar silver eyes and everything else falls away.

"Nothing. It's nothing. And good morning by the way." She reaches a hand to his face and pulls him down into her, immediately transforming the kiss into one of hunger, nibbling his lip and arching her back as she pulls him down.

She'd felt him hesitate at first then he answered her kiss in kind, tongue tasting her, breathing hot and fast against her and pushing her hard, down into the soft bedding.

He moves over her, positioning himself between her already bare thighs and enters her with no preamble, no hesitation. She is already so keyed, ready for him, there is little resistance and they both groan, breaking the kiss. "Merlin. Granger. So. Wet." Each word punctuated by a thrust.

Draco buries his face into her neck, uttering moans and growls that vibrates against her skin. She arches her back, tilting her head up and clawing his back in response.

When she feels the heat build, pooling with desperate tension, she digs her nails into his shoulders and bucks her own hips harder in response. She begs him with senseless pleas. "Don't stop. Gods, please, Draco, don't… stop."

As if he would.

When she reaches her crescendo she feels him tumble down after her, her body milking him. They collapse together, unmoving, as their shuddering subsides.

When they disentangle, Draco looks at her with what she would describe as concern at best but then says nothing. Instead he places an impossibly sweet kiss on her forehead and rises from the bed.

"Where are you going?" She can't hide the slight edge to her voice, worried by his solemn behavior after such an earth shattering climax.

"Shower." Then he smiles and she can't help but return it with her own. "Do you have plans today?" He asks as he picks up his shirt and boxers from the floor and pads, naked across the room.

 _He's bloody delicious._

"I hope so." She answers, trying her best to sound coy, confident, and alluring when in truth she could puddle into liquid watching the muscles in his back flex as he moves. His lithe frame and confident gait nearly render her speechless but she tries to recover. "As far as I'm concerned you can come right back here after that shower and we can spend the day getting you dirty again. And again."

He actually pauses his exit and looks back with his most delectable smirk. "Be careful, Granger, or you'll never be rid of me."

When he walks into his ensuite and closes the door with a wink, Hermione flops back onto the bed and puffs out a suspended exhale.

XXXXX

Draco stares at himself in the mirror for longer than he was actually in the shower, hoping she doesn't question why he's been away so long. The largest part of his mind and body wants nothing more than to return to his witch and take her up on her invitation. He could spend the entire day living from this room. Shag, shower, eat… rinse, repeat.

But he is staring now, trying to shake that feeling that over-takes him when her eyes flash and she moves from fear and sorrow far too quickly to being brilliantly sunny or worse, obtuse.

He steels himself to return to her and perhaps even brooch the subject of her odd shifts. After over a month together he always managed to hide his mark, not wanting any reminders of who he used to be; of how he used to treat her. Being with her for the first time, naked in both mind and body, he was ready to reveal everything. To give her everything of himself.

For a terrifying moment, he thought she would push him away. Draco still has trouble some days, not believing her absolution of him. Perhaps he should just ask if she wants to discuss it? To air any grievances. He opens the door to re-enter his bedroom and opens his mouth to speak.

At the sight of her, however, looking at him with a mixture of sweet affection and cat-who-got-the-cream satisfaction, he stows any concerns in the back of his mind for future reference.

"As much as I love the idea of ravaging you all day, and believe me when I say I'm going to try for at least one more go, let's get some breakfast." He holds out her hand to help her rise.

She takes it with a demure smile before dragging him down beside her and scrambling to straddle his waist.

"One more go first. Then breakfast."

He grins, placing his hands on her hips and running them down her velvet thighs.

"I find I have trouble denying you anything."

Even as he says it, he is struck that he's never spoken words more true.

XXXXXX

"Do you think you and Harry would ever agree to meet him? I mean meet him again, I guess. Meet _with_ him…But with me… like a double date?" She has been a little nervous to ask this of her friend, if anyone couldn't tell. But after months with her beau, and especially after their relationship became intimate a few weeks ago, she knows he is going to be a feature in her life for at least _some_ time.

Ginny Potter is cradling a small glass of red wine like a dying man nurturing a last meal. Once the second trimester began, her healer had allowed that she could have wine in very conservative amounts. Ginny has exactly one glass of red wine per week. Usually on Saturday night. And she nurses each glass for up to a full hour.

"'Mione, of course we would," she offers kindly. "You've been seeing him for what? A couple of months now?"

It was rhetorical but Hermione can't help but answer, a little giddy, "10 weeks… not that I'm counting." She rolls her eyes at herself but her smile is broad.

"10 weeks then. And I'm not about to judge anyone for counting weeks in my condition." She laughs a little at that and tips her wine in reference. "Anyway my point was, I think it's safe to assume it's a little serious at least. Just name the date and we'll be there." She takes another reverent sip and closes her eyes in ecstasy. "I can't _wait_ to not be pregnant."

"I thought it was going great. No morning sickness and all that."

"Well it was. Then my body decided I should have heartburn for daring to consume anything. I think water is included in "anything"."

"Maybe red wine, then, not the best choice." She laughs a little but Ginny just frowns.

"It won't matter. I'd still have to deal with it regardless and I wouldn't get to enjoy my wine." She shrugs and takes another slow sip. "So when do you want to do this? With Malfoy?"

Hermione considers for a moment. "Next weekend?"

"Well," Ginny hesitates and looks away, "I'm not sure next weekend works for Harry."

"Ron?" She could tell by the guilty look on her friend's face.

"Yeah, sorry, it's a quidditch thing. They have tickets to see the Harpys."

"It's ok." And she smiles like she absolutely believes it. "You're not going with them?"

"Watching other people on a broom while I can't makes me angry. The boys said I should stay home." She laughs in spite of herself. "But Harry promised next year, I get season tickets."

"Another weekend then? I'll look at my calendar and owl you."

"Sure. Sounds great."

There is a short pause, only slightly awkward, when Ginny's curiosity gets the best of her and she asks a question she has been wondering. "So have you met his Mother yet? I mean since you've reconnected."

Hermione shakes her head "no". "He doesn't seem to want me to. I mean, it's not like I've not already met her. Not that she liked me much back then. She didn't really like anyone except Draco's friends. But really that was so long ago I barely remember. Surely she will be nice if I'm with her son."

Ginny looks like she almost wants to contest the point but snaps her mouth shut instead. "You'll have to speak to her eventually. I mean, if you keep seeing each other."

"Heh, you tell him that then. He doesn't seem to agree when I say it." She smiles sardonically.

"Don't think I won't. If I see him before you see her I absolutely will."

The friends finish their light dinner and Ginny takes her final sip of wine, tilting the glass straight up and waiting a full 20 seconds for any last drop to make its way down the glass.

"When this is over, when I'm done growing a person, you and I are going to make up for my lost time. Start counting, the cosmos owes me a bottle of wine per week."

Hermione laughs and follows her friend out of the restaurant, never noticing the redhead seated three tables away, glaring at their vacated table in thought.

XXXXXXX

"Mother, what are you doing home?" Draco maintains his cool demeanor but inside he is frantic. He has invited Hermione to join him for tea before they take in a muggle theater production. Narcissa was to have been indisposed, hosting a charity luncheon.

"Oh Draco, I didn't know you were home. My luncheon was really just an obligation to make an appearance. It is more a Parkinson function."

"That is not the impression I was given when you mentioned it yesterday." It's all he can do not to grit his teeth. "I believe your words were "I've an engagement that should have me out most of the day."

She continues fussing with a vase of fresh flowers as though oblivious to his aggravation. "Who can remember exactly what one said regarding such trivial matters? Why dear? Do you have plans today with which I might interfere?"

There it is. The sneaky she-snake. She somehow knew Granger would be here this afternoon. He has successfully avoided introducing the two witches in his life for many weeks and was enjoying the virtual calm in his life.

Draco lies as easily as breathes, wears deception like a comfortable old coat, can charm and convince and persuade nearly any witch or wizard to his whims. Except his mother.

He takes a breath and marches on into his undoing. "I had invited a lady friend to tea this afternoon and had simply hoped for a quiet and intimate setting."

"Oh yes? The witch you have been seeing? Well I certainly won't intrude on your privacy. I'll just introduce myself as the current lady of the house, as is proper of course, and then leave you two to enjoy each other's company." He smile is sweet, tone saccharine, but Narcissa is every bit as incapable of deception to her son as he is to her. Perhaps because she doesn't actually try that hard, daring him to confront her and knowing he will not.

"Well then, Mother, I suppose I may as well tell you that you are acquainted already."

"I thought you mentioned she doesn't move in our social circles?"

With just a hint a sarcasm, "Yes, well who can remember exactly what was said about trivial things."

"Watch the cheek, young man."

"Apologies. But regardless she _doesn't_ move in our circles. You met her years ago, when we attended Hogwarts together."

"She was not in Slytherin then I wager? Gods, Draco, she isn't a Hufflepuff is she?"

They stare at each other a moment when they hear the floo.

Fifteen minutes early.

Of _course_ she is. Bleeding Gryffindor. He could nearly roll his eyes.

"Draco? The floo was open. Are you here?"

"No, Mother, not a Hufflepuff, it's-"

The young witch turns the corner into the room and Narcissa, eyes wide, finishes for her son.

"Hermione Granger."


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione hears soft voices when she lands in Malfoy Manor. A sense of unease clouds her a moment, looking at the cold stone floors and lavish furnishings. She calls for Draco and follows the voice she hears until she finds him in a room with his mother. The older witch is staring at her and she hears her breathe her name.

 _Well at least she remembers me._

Draco immediately turns to her and offers his hand. "Hermione, I'm sorry I wasn't waiting for you, I was just on my way to the parlor."

She takes his hand and waves off his apology. "I'm early, not your fault." Looking to Narcissa she speaks to the woman as politely as she can muster. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy. It's very nice to see you again."

Hermione sees her look first to Draco then back to Hermione. She takes a breath and straightens her posture, puffing her chest and setting her jaw. "Ms. Granger. I must say I'm surprised to see you as the witch who has taken up with my son. I was under the impression you were…less than friendly."

"Oh well of course in school, what with all the house rivalry… but that was so long ago. Forgiveness is a virtue don't you agree?"

Narcissa searches her face. She looks incredulous and shocked and, in general, thrown off her proverbial game. Finally she just mutters, "Yes well…Draco, have a nice time with your friend," she announces in a clipped tone. She nods then to Hermione in a curt fashion as she walks to the door. "Ms. Granger. If you will both excuse me."

Hermione looks to Draco, her face screwed up into confusion. "Did I offend her? Was it because I walked in without an invitation?"

Draco looks at her with almost the same expression as his Mother had but then shakes his head and offers his arm. "Don't mind her. Let's head to the theater, hmm? We can get a drink somewhere before the performance."

She shrugs, curious as to why he no longer wants to have tea before they go but grateful to leave as that feeling of unease has only intensified.

Making their way back down the hall, a room calls for her attention. The crystal chandelier hanging from the impossibly high ceiling, glitters in the sunlight that barely breaches the room and the gleam of it catches her eye. "What's this room?"

Draco stops and looks back to where she has stopped and reaches for her, "Granger, don't. Please let's just go-"

She barely registers his response and steps through the door.

Overwhelmed.

The noise of her own thoughts brings her to her knees and she stares into the room paralyzed, unable to look away. There is a face in her mind that sneers at her in derision. The world circles around her, or perhaps she is spinning in place. Who can tell really? And would it matter? It's impossible to separate her thoughts into single threads, chasing each moment, each sound, each smell: blood and sweat and smoke masked by something sweet… flowers?

Daffodils.

She sees a pale face, piercing grey eyes stare unmoving. There is fear in them. There is pain and sadness. But they don't blink. They don't move closer or look away. She looks and they look back unflinching. Her arm is burning like it is being eaten by fire. The sneering face laughs and digs molten pain deeper into her flesh and then there is screaming and screaming and screaming.

And she realizes it's her.

XXXXXX

"Merlin, Draco, what have you done?" Narcissa races to the room where the young witch is shrieking in panic. In pain. She finds Draco trying to drag her backwards out of a room.

"I didn't do anything! It's your cunt sister!" He manages to move her out of the room, into the hall but she has fought the whole way. "Shut the bloody door!"

Narcissa scowls at her son's foul language toward her. "That is no way to speak to your Mother." But she closes the heavy wooden door nonetheless and looks back at her son.

He is knelt on the floor, holding the witch to his chest. She is sobbing into him, no longer fighting; her breath slowing.

Narcissa snaps and an elf appears. "Water for Ms. Granger please."

All too eager to be of service, the elf vanishes and reappears in barely a blink and holds out the glass to Draco. "Hermione," he questions gently. He offers the drink to Hermione and she takes it, looking up at him with grateful eyes.

Her breath slows further and she looks up between her lover and his Mother. Her face flushes and she looks away. "I'm so sorry. That was very poor form as a guest. I just had a moment that… anyway I apologize."

She moves to stand and, though he helps her up, Draco is stunned with disbelief and looks at his Mother with helpless eyes.

"Nothing to apologize for, love. Come let's get to the theater." Hermione smiles up at him and nods in agreement.

"Sorry to have disturbed you, Mrs. Malfoy. You have a lovely home. I look forward to seeing you again soon." She turns to head back to the parlor and Draco gives his Mother a significant look.

"Good day, Mother. I'll speak to you later."

She nods grimly, "yes I think that would be advisable."

XXXXXX

The pair finds a small pub just down the way from the theater and have a drink before the production begins. Hermione has a pint of beer as black as night. Draco has an aged scotch, 18 year, and sips it slowly.

Their usuals.

Hermione thinks her boyfriend is being obnoxiously quiet and tells him so.

"I'm just feeling a big pensive. Shall we head to the theater? Find our seats?"

"Draco Malfoy, you're being odd. Don't be odd at me."

He can't help but smirk at her defiant attitude and crossed arms. Then he remembers her panic at his home and the mirth slides beneath his worry like bones in a tar pit.

"Hermione, I-I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

"At the manor I- the door- I know you don't have good memories of-" The look on his face borders on horrified.

"Honestly you are being dramatic. You apologize far too much, Malfoy."

He shakes his head and mumbles, "not nearly enough." But he stands anyway and offers his hand, summoning a smile. "Let's not be late. Curtain at half-seven."

She takes his hand with a smile.

Like she always does.

Is it absurd that just once he wishes she would swat it away? Refuse his gestures? Deny his apologies?

When he takes her home that evening, they discuss the play, the awkward meeting with his Mother, the quality of the pub they visited, what they might do tomorrow night, and, in the final moments before arriving home, just _exactly_ what he is about to do to her in the privacy of her flat.

They do not discuss her panic and Draco knows they probably never will. Somehow he accepts it and knows it's horribly wrong at the same time. He lays her down and does all those enticing things to her he promised and holds her when she drifts to sleep, stroking her hair and wondering if being impossibly adjusted is actually just another way to be completely broken.

XXXXX

"Really, Draco, what in the name of Merlin are you thinking?"

Draco had left Hermione quickly after they woke that morning, stating some tasks to address early in the day, and returned to the manor to find his Mother not only waiting for him, but pacing a hole in their dining room floor; her breakfast growing cold on the massive table.

"It's bad enough I thought you had an actual relationship only to find out you're playing around with that mudblood-"

"Be very careful, Mother. I'm in no mood and I'll not have you refer to her with that disgusting word."

Narcissa waves her hand and never halts her steps. "Muggleborn then. You and I both know she will not be an acceptable match and yet you've wasted weeks, lost your potential for Ms. Greengrass… oh Gods I hope she is still unattached. Perhaps if I treat with her Father…"

"Mother stop! Stop pacing and stop talking. Right now."

Oddly, she does.

"I assure you I am just as serious- no. M _ore_ serious- about Hermione than I ever was about Daphne or Pansy or even that Shardlow girl you so despised."

"Draco don't be silly. You can't possibly… I've worked too hard to keep this family in good standing for you to… to… muck it up with this little fantasy of yours. I've spent years kissing the arse, if you will excuse the crude language, of every ministry official, every charity board head, every witch and wizard of any station. I've abandoned my marriage and any hope of personal happiness just so you-"

"Oh no, you don't get to be a martyr. You don't get to use guilt on me. Believe me when I say I can dish it back to you. You and father, your blood prejudice and that fucking cult of yours," she flinches at his tone, "very nearly _killed_ me! What I do with the life that you so _generously_ gave me," the sarcasm drips off his word like poison, "I'm afraid is up to me."

Narcissa sits in one of the opulent carved chairs and holds her head in her hand, her elbow propped on the table as if the only thing supporting the weight of this burden she bears. "Darling, we had such plans, all for _you_. For a better world-"

"No, you had plans for _you_." He gestures around the room. "You had plans for lifestyle and power and position and this giant fucking table that sits empty. Your plans involved throwing me to the wolves when Father failed!"

She looks up, all pretense gone and looks at him with the most sincerity he can remember since the war. "I never wanted you to be in danger, Draco. I did everything I could, more than a woman should have to…" Her eyes, narrowed and wet, look away from him.

Draco is broken down, just a peg, by this sincere emotion, not put on for theatrics, real enough to hide rather than flaunt. He approaches her and kneels beside her, grasping her hands in his. "I'm sorry, Mother. That was unkind." He sighs and looks down at their joined hands and says very softly. "I love you. But on this discussion, on the prejudice you allowed Father to beat into me, you'll not persuade a change."

His Mother breathes in a long suffering sigh and takes one hand from his grip to place it on his face. "So resolute, just like your Father." He flinches at the comparison but does not jerk away. "If you insist in this folly I will do my best to respect your decisions. I may not always live up to your expectations but I will attempt to."

Her soft eyes harden once again and she takes his hands in hers now, gripping them tightly. "But this situation with that Granger girl is something more."

Narcissa drops his hands and rises, resuming her pacing and looking at the stone floor in front of her. She ticks off each grievance on her fingers as she speaks. "Not only is she a mud-muggleborn which, I know, I know, you don't care, it will certainly raise questions amongst our social peers, but she also happens to be a war heroine that fought _against_ our family only to be tortured by my own sister but more than all of that," she ticks off a third finger, "she can't step foot in this house without having a panic attack!"

She looks at him again, her mask back in place, her real emotions somewhat unreadable. "Really, Darling, I worry you've not thought this through. How can you have a relationship with a girl who is likely to hex you in your sleep having some kind of episode?"

Draco rolls his eyes and answers in his trademark glib fashion. "Well it hasn't happened yet so I suppose I feel confident enough."

She looks at him, her lips thin. "You've been intimate with her?"

"Where did you imagine I was spending my nights if not here?"

She waves this off as she does so many things. "Regardless, that reaction of hers was not normal. Even if she was pureblood I would tell you she is unbalanced and council you against spending a lifetime dealing with her issues-"

"Issues this family caused," he mumbles.

" _Issues_ ", she continues forcefully, "that she may never resolve."

He shrugs, "maybe I can help her resolve them."

"You'd sacrifice your future to fix a broken toy? Others can help her. Professionals. No need to martyr yourself-"

"I learned from the best," he interjects, but with a hint of affection.

"Is this the first time, Draco? Does this occur often? What happens next time? What if you're not there to hold her down? She could hurt someone. Hurt _you_! Please, my son, see reason!"

Draco holds up his hand to stop her and speaks in earnest. "I don't know what I really have with Hermione. I can't argue the point that she has some demons to battle and she may not like me much when she comes out the other side. But if that happens it will not be because of status or blood or your antiquated opinions."

He takes one step back, steeling his posture in a both respectful and defensive way.

"I think I'm in love with her, Mother. I'm not entirely sure she can ever feel the same, but I'd very much like to find out."

With that he turns on his heel and leaves his mother gaping after him.


	12. Chapter 12

"I didn't take anything! It's not real! It's not real, please!"

Her screams wake Draco, swimming up from a deep sleep and he shakes her awake, yelling her name, trying to drown out her screams.

"Hermione! Wake up, you're dreaming! Wake up!"

Her eyes shoot open, falling on his face, but the screaming doesn't stop. "No, let me go! Malfoy, let me go! Harry! Ron!"

She is looking frantically around the room, struggling against his grip. Then suddenly she stops and looks back to him again. "Draco?"

"You're ok, Granger. A dream is all. Just a dream." He's not sure if these episodes are "just" anything but hopes to soothe her.

"I'm sorry I woke you. That was just such a nightmare."

"Your third this week," he says with a frown. _Your third since you entered to the manor._ This last is left unsaid.

"It's so unlike me. I usually have such nice dreams." Hermione rises from his bed, giving him a peck on the lips as she does. "It looks like the sun's up. What are you doing today?"

"I've a meeting with some investors and we're visiting a muggle manufacturer. Thinking about expanding our muggle tech division. Very profitable so far."

She nods and continues busying herself around the room, picking up her clothing from very places on the floor.

She slips her silk night dress off, letting it puddle to the floor and Draco feels his breath catch, as it always does.

"When was the last time I told you how beautiful you are?"

She giggles as she shimmies into her black trousers. "Not often enough," she winks back at him.

Draco rises as well and moves toward her, pulling her into an embrace and relishing the feel of her still-bare back under his hands. He mumbles an agreement into her hair, "No, probably not enough."

"When was the last time I told you how _tasty_ you are?"

He pulls back enough to look down at her and allows a tiny, knowing smile. The black lust in her eyes is fully noted. "You're going to make me late for my meeting aren't you?"

Her smirk is his answer but she responds anyway. "I'm going to try."

"I'm going to let you." He melts into their kiss.

And, though he can't say he cares over much, he is indeed late.

XXXXX

"Potter are you there?"

Draco is a head in green flame, peering around a small sitting room, looking for Harry Potter.

Looking for answers.

It's been days since Granger became reacquainted with his Mother and the nightmares have continued, though they are beginning to wane.

When Harry comes in the room, he stops in his tracks and stares a moment, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Malfoy, what the hell?"

"I'm coming over."

Before he can respond, i.e. protest, Draco Malfoy is standing in his sitting room, looking more than a little put out.

"Alright, Potter, no more games. Tell me what is going on with her. She's…. she's not right."

"Malfoy, I don't know-"

"Tell me! Fucking tell me, Potter!"

"Oy, Malfoy, back off." Ron Weasley was only 3 paces behind Harry and enters just in time to see Draco advancing on his best friend, one index fingers jamming into his chest.

When Draco notices him he turns his attention from Harry in favor of Ron and approaches him. The mild aggravation in his eyes has ignited into blind rage.

"Was it you, Weasel?! Huh?! Is he protecting you then?!"

"Jesus Christ, Malfoy," Harry curses in muggle terms, a habit that increases with agitation, "he didn't do anything. _We_ didn't do anything to her."

Draco turns back once again, ignoring the redhead. "Take this and tell me that." He rips a vile from his pocket and thrusts it at Harry, slamming it against his chest. "Take this and tell me you didn't do anything to Granger."

Harry looks down and back up again, incredulous. "Are you serious? Veritaserum? Where did you even get that?"

"Just… fuck, Harry, just take it and tell me you didn't curse her."

Harry flinches and holds Draco's gaze. After a moment of silence, stretching between them and suffocating the room, Harry snatches the vile and downs it, all the while scowling at the blond and not once looking away.

"I have not cursed or otherwise tried to harm Hermione."

Draco opens his mouth to speak but Harry cuts him off, "Neither has Ron."

Draco looks like he doesn't know what to think. He runs his hand through his hair and shifts his haunted eyes between the two men, looking for some kind of answers they can't give.

"You're supposed to be her friend, Potter. You can't tell me you don't notice."

"What makes you think you know her better than Harry then?" Ron pouts out the accusation, eyes narrowed.

"Well I guess I think I might have an advantage since I'm sleeping with her," he sneers. It's petty and he couldn't care less.

"You sodding bastard. You're _using_ her, you son of a bitch. You know you don't deserve her! You know she doesn't really forgive you-" He stops speaking as suddenly as he started, eyes wide, and sits numbly on the sofa, no longer looking at either man.

Draco, slightly confounded by the outburst but hoping to find logic with a cooler head, looks back at Harry to find him staring with concern after his friend.

"What's wrong with her, Potter? Please. I don't know if I'm more afraid that she'll come apart or that she won't at all."

Harry looks back at him. "What do you mean?"

"She's having nightmares. But I hear what she screams. They're about me. About Bella. About Greyback and Gringotts and every other sodding thing she went through during the war. Then she wakes up and it's like she doesn't even remember. Not just the dream but _living_ it. Being there. It's like she's been… oblivated but… no that's not right either. I don't know."

He looks up with beseeching eyes. "I don't know what it is, but I can't fix her. I can't even talk to her about it. It's like my mind is muddled when I so much as try."

"I can't help you, Malfoy, I'm sorry. I wish I could but she doesn't… show…those feelings to me."

"She doesn't really _show_ them to me either. That the problem, isn't it?" He spits out. Then he shakes his head and melancholy over takes him. "I think I'm breaking her. It's like she was ok, doing great and moving on. Then I walk in and I dug up all her buried shite. Shoved the dark mark in her face."

"Is she so fragile?" he wonders. "How the fuck did she cope, running around looking for horcruxes with you and this tosser?" He gestures to Ron but with little energy. He'd be screaming if he didn't feel so completely drained. Defeated.

Across the room, Ron is staring at him in something akin to horror. "Harry, do something."

"What the hell am I going to do, Ron?" He shoots back at his friend.

"You two selfish pricks." Malfoy is looking between them.

"Bugger off, Malfoy."

"Spin on it, Weasel. You two are supposed to give a shite about her. You don't even see it. I may not deserve her boundless forgiveness but at least I ask for it. You two… bastards." He shakes his head in disgust and disbelief before he turns and re-enters the green flames; barely a "Malfoy Manor" before stepping into the fire.

XXXXX

Hermione finally pinned down her boyfriend and her best mates to dinner. It was supposed to be weeks ago but it seemed something always came up for one of them. Now, with the holidays approaching and poor Ginny getting to that really uncomfortable part of her pregnancy, she badgered until they all ran out of excuses. She should probably be nervous really, but these are the people in the world she cares the most about. She is sure they will hit it off just fine.

They've decided to stay in. Draco and Hermione spend many nights eating in restaurants, both muggle and wizarding. She is craving a more private dinner.

She hears the floo and rushes to meet her guests. "Ginny!" The hug is awkward and lopsided around her swollen belly.

"Hullo, 'Mione!" She presents a bottle of red for her approval. "Remember that great Malbec we had in the autumn? Think it will be good for tonight?"

"Sounds perfect, Gin. Hey, Harry." She gives him a quick hug as well and stands back to look at the both of them. "Draco should be here anytime. Let's get this open so it can breathe."

Within minutes of pouring out the wine, Draco is walking into the dining room with his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual. "Potter. Red Potter." He smirks at the woman he has just nicknamed and she rolls her eyes.

"Hey, Malfoy," she returns. Harry just stares.

Draco walks straight to Hermione and takes the glass she offers, placing a kiss on her cheekbone. "Hello, love."

"You're late you know."

"Sorry. Meeting. As many as you make me late for you'll have to just take this one as karmic retribution." She laughs and blushes at the implication.

"I don't think I _make_ you do much of anything."

"You'd be surprised," he winks.

When Harry clears his throat, the couple parts a little physically and looks properly chastised. "So I'm famished let's tuck in, yeah?" His wife nods in agreement and Hermione gestures for everyone to sit.

Conversation is surprisingly easy as the evening goes. Lubricated by a little vino tinto, they laugh like old friends (most of whom are) and tease with no animosity. Hermione has prepared a beautiful beef tip dish and her friends compliment her prowess.

Draco muses, knowing her secrets of pre-made muggle soup mixes and boxed pasta starters, but says nothing and simply looks at her fondly.

"Afters, anyone?"

Draco is met by a chorus of "yes" and rises to go to the kitchen. Hermione starts to stand. "No, no, sit. You had dinner; I do dessert. That was the deal." He raises his eyebrows in challenge and she concedes, sitting theatrically but smiling with affection.

He returns with a tray sporting 4 crystal parfait glasses. Each is filled with a beautifully presented trifle; layers of golden cake with fruits and cream.

"Wow, Malfoy that actually looks good."

He looks affronted but his eyes twinkle. "I'll have you know potion making skills lend themselves perfectly to culinary arts."

"House elves-cough-house elves." The sets of eyes look to Hermione and she smirks.

Draco screws up his mouth in frustration. "They only helped a little."

The Potters laugh at that but it doesn't deter anyone from finishing their dessert and gushing about the wonderful jobs that "the house elves – oops I mean you, Draco" had managed.

When they've finished, Draco begins to clear dishes and takes them to the kitchen, using some light wandless magic to turn on the faucet and beginning to place dishes into the suds. He rolls up his sleeves and thrusts his hands beneath the water, plundering for each dish amongst the froth. He starts with the delicate stemware that held their wine before moving on to the utensils. He has just pulled a steak knife out when Potter backs himself into the door to open it, his arms laden with plates. "Oy, where do you want these?"

Hermione is just behind him, smiling and laughing a little at something Ginny just said when she stops and her face pales. Draco looks to her and sees her gaze focused on his arm where his sleeve is rolled away, the knife clutched in his hand. His blood goes to ice at the look of terror on her face.

That look of sorrow that kills him.

That look he'd seen at his trial that he swore he would never see again. Yet here it is, haunting her face, again. And again. And again

He lowers his arm and drops the blade back beneath the water.

Like a fog, her face clears and she shakes her head. "Don't drop the dishes like that, Draco, you'll break the china!" She admonishes and shuffles him out of the way. "You've done enough, you're wonderful. I'll finish up ok? Go chat with Harry so Ginny and I can have a little girl time." She winks at him with a sly smile, "I want to dish about my hot boyfriend."

With a familiar feeling of confusion and self-disgust he relinquishes the sponge to her and breezes past Potter out of the room.

Harry finds him pacing and when he sees him he hisses in accusation, gesturing to the kitchen. "See?! This is every day, Potter. It's not normal. It's like I'm torturing her."

He sits on the sofa and buries his head in his hands. "I can't keep doing this. It's killing me watching her flinch from my touch then smile serenely like I'm a sodding kitten."

"Malfoy, don't you dare," Harry returns in his own hushed tone. "Don't give up on her. She adores you. It would destroy her if you left."

"He shakes his head and laughs with no humor. "It won't. I don't know how I know that but it won't. She'll wake up the next day and ask you over for tea; catch up on your week and dish about office gossip. I'm destroying her _now_. Every day."

"How can you just walk away from her," he whispers in panic.

"Oh I don't know that I can. I'm not sure I can ever let her go now. I don't want to. But I can't continue like this. If you can't help me… I don't know who can but something happened to her."

"She's fine, Malfoy-"

"Salazar, Potter, she's not fine! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Harry just stares at him looking almost repentant. "Don't give up on her," he repeats. "Please."

Draco swipes his hand down his face, wiping away the bitter taste of resolution and stands. "I'm trying, Potter. But I'm not convinced me staying is what she needs."

 **A/N I just wanted to say a quick thank you for your reviews, follows, and faves! I've retained a schedule of about 3 chapters written ahead but I'm afraid the US holiday weekend (and subsequent alcohol, cards against humanity, and late nights) might possibly set me back. I apologize in advance if I skip a day or two as I really like doing a daily update on a multi-chapter. I love love love to hear your thoughts, be it in a review or PM and so here I will admit that I am (shamelessly) hinting for more! :)**


	13. Chapter 13

After their dinner with the Potters, Draco manages to stay another week before he breaks. His eyes are rimmed red from lack of sleep, stress, and loathe though he may be to admit it, the sobbing collapse he just allowed. It has become more and more difficult of late to ignore the pain he seems to inadvertently cause her. This morning, he had woke first. His intent was to kiss her softly to either wake her if her sleep was shallow, or slip out of bed and allow her more rest if she didn't rouse. He had not quite touched her when her eyes fluttered open and locked hazily onto his. His witch nearly fell off the bed backing away from him, tears pouring from her terrified eyes.

As always, the incident was followed by one of her usual apologies "I'm so sorry I don't know what got into me!" They had risen for the day and separated within the flat to shower, dress, and wake more fully before meeting up again in the kitchen for breakfast. When he enters now, she is just sliding some toast into her favorite little muggle device. He had asked what it was months ago.

" _Toaster." Inventive name, yeah?_ She had giggled and he had smiled…

"Hermione, we… we need to talk. Please."

His witch looks at him with her warm chocolate eyes and he almost stops. That feeling of confusion washes over him but he pushes hard, hoping he has the resolve to do what he must.

"Look I have to say this fast or it won't come out. We need some time apart. _You_ need some time apart. We can't… I need you to be angry at me alright? Make me beg. Make me deserve you like I want to because I've earned it. Gods, I was evil…"

He pauses, having given all his effort to choke out as much as his mind would allow.

She shakes her head and offers a wry smile like he's being silly. "Don't be ridiculous, Draco, we were kids."

"In the beginning maybe but not by the end. Not by the time I tried to kill…" he shakes his head and tries again. "Not when Bella-ARGH!"

He growls in frustration and looks back at her, seething, though not _at_ her.

"Draco I don't understand… I love you." It's the first time she's said it and the weight is not lost on either of them. Her smile has faded; some kind of realization driving it away. For a moment he stares at her and wants desperately to erase everything he just said, to hold her and never let go.

"You can't." She flinches at his words as though she's been struck but he continues. He struggles forward, "You can't love me if you can't accept what I've been."

"I _do_ accept-"

"No, Hermione, you don't. I should be grateful really." He steps back one pace, processing his own thoughts and trying to understand himself as much as explain. "I get to see the parts of you Potter gets to see. I get to see the pieces of you Weasley was allowed. The 'all of you' I missed out on for years when all I saw was that bushy-haired swot with the unfortunate heritage." He pauses and takes a shallow breath, trying to steady himself and continue to the end. "But not because you give those pieces to me. Not really. It's like you don't have a choice."

The tears begin to form in her eyes and he steps forward, placing his hands on her shoulders with affection but also holding her in place, holding himself at arms-length quite literally lest his resolve crumble. "I'm going to find out what happened to you and fix it. When that happens, you may regret ever letting me near you. But when you're whole, when I can say "I'm sorry" and you can understand what it means, then I'll ask you to love me."

He turns to leave but stops when she speaks. "I- what about you?"

"Me?"

"What if I ask _you_ to love _me_?" Her eyes plead.

His smile is sad when he says, "I find I have difficulty denying you anything."

He picks up a handful of powder and whispers so low he's not even sure if she hears. "Besides, I already love you."

Then in green flame, he is gone.

XXXXX

"Really, Draco, is this how you intend to spend the holidays?"

Draco Malfoy is sitting in the library at the manor, staring at what was once his Father's desk loaded down with a pile of books though not reading any, and losing himself in enough trains of thought to fill Waterloo Station.

Brooding is the word that comes to mind.

It has been mere days since he parted with his witch and every day has been an exercise in futility. He's been through at least 100 tomes, all focused on either mental spellwork or curse breaking. Just when he thinks he is making some sort of progress, he looks up at the endless shelves and realizes this library contains thousands of books; centuries of information and history. He's feeling a little helpless. He is struck over and over again that if its research you need, who to call but Hermione Granger? What obnoxious irony that is.

Narcissa breezes around him with her typical elegant poise to the massive window that overlooks the grounds and sweeps the curtains open. He squints as the harsh light bounces into the room. "Don't you think you've moped enough, Dear?"

He takes in a breath and gives all his effort to answering in a polite and patient way. "I apologize, Mother, I don't mean to upset you."

Her eyes soften and she kneels in front of him, uncharacteristically affectionate, placing a cool hand on his face and meeting his gaze. "Talk to me, Draco. I know something isn't right. And I know it's with Granger. You've been home far too much," she tries to offer a smile as if to lighten his mood but he barely registers her tone one way or another."

"We have suspended our relations for a time."

The look of surprise on her face is raw and genuine before she slides her mask back into place. "Darling, I'm sorry. Can I assume it was her choice?"

"No actually it was mine. Though I'm sure she has hardly given it a second thought," he offers bitterly.

"I doubt that."

He raises an eyebrow, "do you now? Really? You were here when she walked into the drawing room. She doesn't let much bother her," he finishes with a touch of bitterness.

His Mother stands and lifts herself up to her full height, looking much more regal but still with compassion in her eyes. "Is that why? Because of her episode? That was weeks ago. Draco, if this is because of what I said-" She stops and huffs in mild frustration.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy I won't say this more than once so stop staring into oblivion and listen to your Mother."

He snaps his eyes to her at his full given name and sits up a bit straighter out of schoolboy habit if nothing else.

"She made you desperately happy, Draco. You may think you hide from me and that you're so very clever but a Mother knows. I may not be entirely pleased. I can't lie and say she would be my choice for you, but I'll not have you fall back into your melancholy and detached ways like when you were dating Parkinson: Out with a different muggle every week, drinking that foul muggle liquor, hiding in your flat."

"How did you-?"

"Oh please," she cuts him off in exasperation. "Don't belittle us both by asking how I know you so well. You think I don't pay attention to my only son? You think you're so clever no one can read you?"

She bends down over him this time, one hand resting on the arm of the chair in which he sits and softens her tone once again. "You thought you could help her so why did you give up?"

"Because I was making it worse," he hisses, though not with any real anger. Only despondency. "When I met her she was always sunny. The more time I spent the more frequent those attacks became. I couldn't fix her; I was killing her." His eyes shimmer into glass and he looks away exasperated at himself, at his Mother, at Hermione Granger, at Potter. At everything.

"I-," She seems to consider a moment, eyes searching the room but seeing nothing, lost in a reverie of possibilities. "There must be… something…"

"Do you know why I've been in here for probably eighteen hours a day the last four days? I'm trying to find some way to help her. There's something wrong with her and I don't know what it is but it's not normal. Something was done to her. Someone hurt her or cursed her or something. I've not given up, I just...I just can't look at her when she cowers from me."

He lowers his voice. "I'm not strong enough."

Narcissa nearly swoons at the helplessness she feels for her boy and does the only thing she can think to do, rare and out of character that it might be. She leans down and wraps her thin arms around her son, holding him and letting him cling to her in kind.

"Come, Dear. Let's enjoy at least a small part of Christmas evening together. I've asked the elves to prepare a nice meal for us." Draco nods numbly. If he's honest, he can't look at one more book right now.

Narcissa and Draco share a holiday meal together of roast duck with more accompaniments than they could hope to even try. Conversation is sparse at best. Draco's Mother steals glances at him, worry wrinkling her brow. Draco keeps his gaze mostly trained on his plate, his glass, a spot on the table, anywhere but into his Mother's eyes. He is unaccustomed to her looking at him with such naked emotion: concern and sadness and confusion. It makes him uncomfortable. Agitated.

Once they have finished, Narcissa snaps for an elf who pops into place immediately.

"Mistress?"

She smiles at the little creature, her favorite amongst them. "Tilby I would like you to inform all of the staff that you may take the evening off. My son and I will have no more need of you tonight."

"I-is M-mistress... displeased?" The poor creature stutters.

"No, Dear, of course not. It is the holidays after all. We would like you to enjoy them. Mistress orders you to have a Happy Christmas," she smiles.

The elf looks at Draco with wide eyes only to be met with the same saucer-like expression from the master of the house.

"Th-thank you, Mistress." Tears roll down his wrinkled face and he bows an absurd number of times before popping away to inform the rest of the manor elves.

"Mother that was... not like you."

She waves it away as she rises from her chair, "Pish, Draco, I'm capable of kindness." She sashays around the room in her elegant velvet robes and returns with a tiny box in her hands. "Happy Christmas, Darling."

He looks at her, the question on his face. They have not exchanged gifts together since he was a child. Since before the war. Inside the opulent wrapping, Draco finds a small box, carved of dark wood. Removing the lid, he uncovers a vile of silvery liquid."

"What is this?"

"That, my dove, is a very rare potion ingredient. There's a parchment there, under the vial with some of the details. I know how you love potion making; was always a passion for you. Do treat it carefully as it is very difficult to find."

"What does it do?"

"On its own? Very little. Poison perhaps? I forget tedious things. But in the correct combinations, it can be extraordinary." She steps back and continues carefully, "I find many things are like that. On their own, mundane, banal. But when joined with other things? Often we are surprised by the sum of parts."

"Mother?"

"I love you, Draco, very much." She breathes deeply before speaking in more clear terms. "You are a joy to me; my dearest love. And when you were with her, she made you even better. I love who you are even more when you are happy. I meant to give this to you to show you I am trying to accept your choice."

"I think," he begins with a ghost of a smile, his face barely remembering how to make the muscles work, "you've just called the love of my life banal."

Narcissa rolls her eyes. "Maybe I called _you_ banal."

Draco laughs this time. The kind of laugh Hermione could always inspire and he scoffs at his Mother, "You wouldn't dare. I'm a Malfoy."

"Perhaps things only _appear_ mundane when in fact they were already worth our notice then. Concede a lady her metaphor. And say 'thank you' for the gift. Manners, love. It's what separates from the beasts."

"Thank you, Mother." Draco kisses her cheek. "I think I'll retire for the evening. I'm going to go back to my flat for a while but when I return in the morning, I'll be revisiting the library."

He is to the threshold when he stops and looks back smiling, "I've not given up on my happiness quite yet."

After he has left, alone in her massive home, bare even of her loyal house elves, Narcissa glides back up the stairs. In the library she turns a circle, staring up to the impossibly high shelves and sighs one of usual exhausted sighs.

XXXXX

Christmas morning greets Hermione with cold drizzling rain but she smiles anyway, picking up Crookshanks and cuddling the cantankerous cat very much against his wishes. "Happy Christmas, Crooks!"

She is due at the Potters in an hour and busies herself preparing. Never one to do things last minute, but somehow having lost track of time this year, she still needs to wrap their gifts. She sets to work with no magic, wrapping the muggle way she learned as a girl: Exactly three pieces of tape per package, perfectly creased corners, an architect's precision for perfect usage with little to no waste. Every package is a different pattern of black and white print including polka dots, stripes, checks, and the slightly more complicated repeating pattern of fleur de lis. Every package is topped with a bright bow of a different color. From red to blue to hot pink to Slytherin green…

Her eyes fall on one last gift, a small package in a plastic shopping bag from a muggle electronics store. She had purchased a cellular phone for Draco weeks ago. She thought it would be amusing to watch him try to learn…

Well, that was then. And he… they…

Tears prick her eyes.

 _Time apart_

She gives her head a sharp little shake.

 _That's not so bad. Doesn't sound permanent really._

Idly, Hermione has been shredding a piece of wrapping paper and looks down at herself with a frown. She thinks she really must pay more attention and sweeps the bits away to begin again.

She picks up her scissors and hums a muggle carol as she cuts a perfectly straight line down the zebra striped paper and pushes anything else from her mind.

XXXXX

Later that afternoon, just after Hermione has left the Potter home, Harry looks at his wife and sighs. "It's different this time, isn't it? She's not… I don't know."

Ginny shakes her head, gathering mugs that previously housed rich hot cocoa but now are cold, residue coating the bottom. "I told you this would happen. That it would be harder for her one day."

Harry grimaces as he gathers bits of wrapping paper into a trash bin. "So you were right. Great. Does that make you happy then?"

Ginny immediately straightens and nearly drops one of the mugs. "Harry James Potter, of course not! And don't take this out on me. It wasn't _my_ idea and you know it."

The sound of the floo stops their conversation and they look to the hearth to see Ron standing in the room.

He smiles and waves to his best mate and his sister. "Happy Christmas!"

Ginny gives her brother a quick hug and then continues cleaning the room, unable to meet his eyes.

"So, how was it?" When neither respond, both adamantly looking away, he tries again. "Is she okay? Oy! Is. She. Okay?

"She's fine, Ron. She… she's alright. Just, she needs some time I'm sure." Harry tries to sound confident but isn't sure how well he has pulled that off.

"She never needed time before, yeah? Didn't need time with me, did she? Or any of the others? Or with anything else for that matter."

"We all know she's been different. It was different with him."

"Different with bloody Malfoy," Ron bites out with a sour expression but presses on. "How long are we going to let his go on? I know I'm not really part of her life anymore, but Gods, Harry, how long do we let her go on like this?"

"Don't put this on me, mate. You know I'd change it if I could but I can't.

The three friends… family… they stand and think together but alone, for the thousandth time.

When Ron speaks, he is quiet. "Mum sent me to fetch you. Dinner soon. Charlie just got in too."

Harry and Ginny nod and Ginny answers, "We'll be along in just a tick then."

Ron Weasley nods and leaves the two looking at each other. Ginny speaks first. "He might try to do something stupid."

"Time will tell."


	14. Chapter 14

"Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm not sure if you remember me-"

"Well if I didn't that ridiculous head of hair would be enough to surmise. You're Arthur's youngest boy."

Ron cringes, remember just how horrid this family is. Why Hermione has even... no, he doesn't need to know why. She might not even feel the same after…well, when this is over. For now, all that matters is that Hermione needs him. Harry seems content to wait it out; hoping it will come out ok in the end. Ginny seems simply to have given up.

The worst is Lavender. She doesn't know enough to understand, only to question with jealousy. When he had returned to his family at the burrow last night, ranting about feeling rather helpless in helping his old friend, she had glared at him. Even now, as he is on this odd Boxing Day errand, she is probably fuming that her husband is still so "hung up" on his former lover.

The day he left Hermione had been one of the hardest of his short life. He had loved her completely but somewhere inside he knew. He knew it longer than he cared to admit. They were never really suited to be together.

His reconnection with Lavender Brown had felt natural, not the forced efforts that were required in keeping up with Hermione Granger. Their love was like an ill-fitting coat; one he had coveted before he had it, yet often felt was restrictive and uncomfortable once he had. None of that had made it any easier to part with her.

The hardest part was removing himself from Hermione's life so absolutely. He had known it would be hard for him, to see her and not be allowed to love her. But really, what he had known was it would be too complicated for _her_. And ultimately, _that_ was why he had cut all direct ties, relying on Harry to take care of her instead.

"Yes. Ron Weasley. I... I need something. I need your help. For Hermione Granger."

Narcissa almost flinches but recovers with a discerning look, narrowed eyes looking down her nose. It's nearly enough to make him fidget like a child, this formidable woman.

"And you believe I can assist you?"

"Yes, I need a book. I think... no I'm sure: It's in your library. Please, could I borrow it if I can find it?"

"Indeed? What book if I might ask?"

"I- I'm not sure. It doesn't have a title. It's... hard to explain," he finishes weakly. However the Malfoy matriarch gives him a slight smile and stands aside.

"Best come inside then. The library is up the west stairs." She snaps her fingers and a jittery house elf appears before them.

"Yes, Mistress? How is Pipsy to be of help?"

"Please escort young master Weasley to the library and assist him in his search for a book."

"Oh yes, Mistress, right away! Come, young Master. Pipsy is ever so pleased to help!"

With a wary look, Ron follows the tiny elf to the base of the stairs. When he hears her clear her throat, he looks back. He would swear Narcissa was smirking but it vanishes before he can be sure it was ever there.

"I found a book myself, Mr. Weasley, similar to what you describe. I had intended to give it to Draco when he returned to the manor. Perhaps you would be so kind to deliver it? I do so hate travelling into the city. It's in the satchel on the desk, Pipsy." Ron nods and follows the little elf up the staircase and into a massive the library, the likes of which he has never seen. With no little sadness, he registers that Hermione would love this room.

Pipsy picks up a book inside a leather case nearly larger than she and hands it carefully to Ron. "Please be keeping it in the satchel, Master Weasley. Pipsy knows, Pipsy feels. This book is old magic."

He takes it carefully and peeks inside to see exactly what he came here for. He thinks it odd, but wants to waste no time and doesn't bother to think on why the book was nearly gift wrapped for him.

Ron rushes from the Malfoy property and apparates into London, on the outskirts of the wizarding part of the city and close to Draco's flat. The doorman gives him a sideways glance, looking him up and down with mild distrust before allowing him entry. "It's a book for Mr. Malfoy from his Mother Narcissa." He shows the family seal emblazoned on the front of the leather satchel.

Standing in front of the door, he considers if he should ring the bell, knock, or just bloody barge in. He settles for a loud and rude knock.

When he opens the door, Draco narrows his eyes at the wizard standing outside his flat and leans against the door frame. "Weasley." He is painfully aware of how he must look: Ragged and exhausted. He was just about to return to the manor, to continue his research. He tries to appear casual and confident, giving the man no satisfaction of his sorry state.

"Sod it, Malfoy, I thought you were going to stay. I thought you'd at least bloody _try_. I tried, for years."

Draco looks at him with utter and absolute confusion.

"Here." Draco catches more than accepts the large tome as it is thrust at him. A feeling of unease is on him immediately.

"What the hell is this?" He notes his own family crest on the leather and then opens the flap. Draco studies the cover of the book. No title, no words of any kind greet his eyes. But the sense of dark arts roils off the object and he has an inexplicable instinct to drop it at his feet.

"Answers. I can't say much more than that."

"Can't or won't?"

" _Can't_ , wanker. Look I'm trying to be decent here, alright? For _her_."

"Where did you get this then? Not something I would expect the Weasley library to house. If you had a library." That old prejudice surfaces, that desire to needle and belittle this... rival?... in the face of Draco's unease.

The redhead sneers back at him, "Malfoy Manor."

And with a crack, he has apparated away, leaving Draco with a furious and confused expression.

Not knowing what else to do, he backs himself into his flat and closes the door, eyes never rising from the book. He drops the satchel at his feet before continuing into his flat.

He pads across the floor and enters his study, dropping the book on the desk, relieved to have it leave the touch of his skin, and sits in the leather chair, leaning back and swiveling slightly. He regards the book with discerning eyes and bites the tip of his thumb as he considers.

Slowly, he opens the front cover and begins to read:

 _I trust any eyes that fall upon these pages to be of sturdy stock, ready to face magics of lost heritage and historical import. The ministry is not without merit but we have lost the old ways. Herein, I invite you to loose the shackles of this so called enlightened age. Magic is not dark or light, good or evil. Magic is of utility, no different than a sickle or hammer. Use your magic with care. Light magic, as it is so categorized, has been proven capable of as much destruction as supposed Dark magic can be of restoration. It is the wielder of the wand that makes it so._

 _Corvus Black_

 _October, 1732_

Continuing to turn pages, careful not to tear, crease, or otherwise disturb the brittle paper, he begins to notice marks and notes scribbled in the margins. In the center back of the massive volume, a red silken ribbon marks a page with an inordinate amount of writing.

 _Risk of memory surges_

 _Caution against pairing with obliviation_

 _In conjunction with Compulsio Repleo_

 _Trial date July 9_

Draco starts and jerks away from the book and from his intense study.

 _Trial date_

My _trial date._

He slams the book closed and stands, tucking it under his arm and reaching for his wand. He knows the handwriting on the bottom of that page; is intimately familiar with the proper yet rigid script.

It's been a long time since he visited Azkaban.


	15. Chapter 15

Draco is led to a small room with no window, one door, and a wooden table with two chairs. His wand had been confiscated and the room is warded and charmed to allow no physical contact.

And a good thing too, for Lucius.

The man sits with the same regal posture that Draco remembers from childhood, though there is darkness beneath his eyes and his once silken hair is thin and brittle.

Draco has visited his Father since his incarceration exactly twice before now. The first was the day after Draco's own trial. He had been in holding when his Father was sentenced and had not seen him since the great battle. He had told him of his sentence (or lack thereof) and that Narcissa was only given house arrest for a brief twelve months. Lucius had nodded in thanks though he already knew, his wife having visited him, one last time before her sentence would start, to tell him the same.

The second was after Draco was officially made the head of the family and family business. He had come on his Father's request. Lucius wanted to congratulate, to guide, but Draco had said it would be their last meeting.

 _"Draco, don't be ridiculous. I'm your Father."_

 _He sat stoic and proud, looking his Father in the eye. "You are a cruel, power-mad, cold man. I sought approval my entire life. I lived in fear and anger for so long I thought it was...I thought it was normal. Like everyone just felt like that all the time."_

 _He had stood, his back straight. "I'll not return to see you. If they ever let you out of here, go to Mother for forgiveness. She's a better person than you raised me to be."_

"My son, I'd not thought to see you within these walls again."

"Yes, well, I never intended to come back."

There is a pause and Lucius finally inquires, "Are you well? Your Mother tells me very little and her visits have become...infrequent."

"I'm not well actually. I'm having some difficulties."

Lucius smirks and Draco cringes by how familiar it looks. How like his own face. "So you come to me? I'll not complain. It is a parent's privilege to help their child, even those that have been estranged."

"I come to you only because you need to fix something you've done." Draco lifts the satchel that is laying near his feet and drops it on the table between them. The heavy thud is followed by a short silence before Draco unbuckles the item and slips the heavy book from the leather.

With a little ceremony, theatrics ingrained since a childhood in pureblood society, he turns the pages with care, past centuries of scribbled notes, until he reaches the marked spell, the red silk ribbon trailing out like blood across the table. "This is your hand writing."

It's not a question but Lucius gives a curt nod.

"You, what? Hadn't done enough to her yet? Needed to twist the knife? Why? What more could you hope to accomplish?"

"I can't answer you entirely. I...you must know I never...my writing does not mean I cast any curse." He stops and looks, for maybe the first time Draco can recall, flustered.

"It doesn't mean you did exactly, but what? Hired it done then?"

Lucius contemplates before a cryptic response. "I did nothing to harm her."

"Legilimens."

Draco has been practicing wandless magic for years, as well as Legilimency, but the sheer talent of this stuns Lucius enough that he has no barriers when his son enters his head.

Draco's vision is swept into a room, his Father sitting across from a wooden table from three other robed figures, leaned toward each other in intense conversation. The room is much like the one he is physically in now. Perhaps it is the same in fact. The four figures appear to be taking an oath. An Unbreakable Vow of silence for what has been done to Hermione Granger."

He is pushed out of his Father's head, too surprised by what he's seen to resist.

"How the bloody... the wards! How can you do that here?!"

"It's amazing what a few galleons can get you here, Father. A couple of botched wards? Careless really but it happens," he shrugs.

Draco narrows his eyes and it takes all of his years of learned control to remain seated and ask in a low voice, but with as much threat as he can pack into the words. "Why did you take a vow with Harry Potter?"

"You know I can't answer. I'm under the Vow." He sneers at his son's question and indeed the entire affair.

"Then what _can_ you answer _?_ You don't even need to deny that you did that spell."

Lucius begins to speak and Draco cuts him off.

"You're not good enough. That spell would take someone flawlessly skilled at occlumency, legilimency, and probably countless other forms of spell casting. I got into your head now and I'm not entirely in practice. I wouldn't touch this spell. I'm not even sure Severus could've."

"You are correct on all counts."

"Then who?"

"You know I can't-"

"ARGH!" Draco growls in frustration and grips his head between his hands.

There is a long silence, Draco with his head buried in his hands, Lucius pensive and cool.

Finally, Lucius asks the question that has been perched at the front of his mind since he looked at the book.

"Why is this your concern? You barely know the mudblood."

The rage in Draco's expression when he looks up is unmistakable and Lucius notices the worn and exhausted look of his features.

"Oh Gods, Draco you didn't. Are you in a _relationship_ with the chit?"

"I was. For months I was and I watched her crack beneath my fingers like an egg shell. Whatever this was supposed to do…it worked for years as far as I can tell, if the result was to leave her a little hollow but mostly satisfied. But with me, the manor, the remnants of this-" He lifts his arm, pointing to the mark. "Every day she is a little more unbalanced; takes a little longer to come to her senses after an episode."

"So then that redheaded git in your head, Weasley, brings me this book. I guess that was the best he could do since you took that vow with them. Did you force them into this? Do you have something over them as leverage?"

Lucius looks back with an impassive face but Draco can tell he is unsettled.

"You're telling me you can't answer anything? Was this your idea?"

"No."

"Was it Potter's?"

"No."

"Weasley?"

"No"

"Whose then? Who should I be talking to?"

Lucius just shakes his head. "I don't think there is much more I can say."

"Where did you get this book?"

"Bellatrix."

Draco starts. For a moment he thinks he may have found his answer. The insane woman that tortured his lover during the war, not to mention cursed Draco, her own nephew, for punishment, to teach tough lessons, or more often, for her own amusement…"Did she do this somehow?"

"No."

"Do you have any idea how bloody frustrating this is?"

His Father smirks, "yes."

"At least that changed your answer," Draco mumbles.

"Does anyone else know outside of you, Weasley, and the Potters, assuming the third figure in your head was Potter's wife?"

"Yes."

"The spell caster?"

"Yes."

"Any others."

A hesitation, thoughtful and unsure. "Yes."

"What, you're lying now? Your answers are fucking worthless enough; no need to lie."

"Not a lie just… unclear. But basically yes is the answer."

Draco regards his Father in silence before he moves to stand. "I suppose any further attempt to learn more from you would be folly. I'm going to find out what you've done and make you answer for it."

Lucius looks up at his son, his heir, his pride, the only thing he ever really accomplished and says with all the sincerity he knows how to employ, "I genuinely hope that is the case."


	16. Chapter 16

_I need to talk to you. With your wife and Weasley. As soon as possible if you have any regard for Granger. I'm free all night. Send your reply as soon as you can collect your cohorts._

 _D_

Harry looks up at the insufferable owl that did not depart when he took the scroll. It is waiting for his reply. "Ginny?"

Heeding the unspoken request in his voice, Harry's wife enters the room a few inches after her own midsection. "What's wrong? Is that Malfoy's bird?"

The owl seems to bristle at her disrespectful tone.

 _Bird? Eagle Owl, witch._

He puffs up as if she could hear.

"He wants to talk to us. And Ron. He must know something."

"Well… good then." Ginny straightens herself and sets her jaw. "But my back is killing me and I don't feel like waddling around that giant manor or sitting on uncomfortable furniture in his stuffy apartment. Get him over here and I'll floo Ron."

Harry writes a terse reply and attaches it to the owl. The owl cocks his head at him and, he would swear to Merlin, makes as if to raise an eyebrow. Taking a treat from the bowl in the cabinet, the bowl he had expressly put away after the bird's last visit, he gives it to the animal and flinches as it nearly takes his fingers off. "You are a nasty piece of work, you know that?"

The owl swoops back out through the window and out of sight.

XXXXX

Draco is pacing the sitting room in his flat when his owl returns to him and perches on his coffee table, mindful of his claws as to not scratch the wood. He offers his parchment wrapped leg and waits.

Draco crosses the room, treat already in hand, and feeds it to his owl. "Thank you, Cronus. Efficient as always." The bird puffs under the praise and gives a soft purr-like hoot.

 _Ginny is calling Ron over here. Come to the cottage when you get this._

 _H_

 _P.S. Your bird is a prat._

Draco smirks and ruffles his owl's feathers. He doesn't hesitate a moment longer and slips on his shoes by the door. Grabbing the satchel on the way, he throws in a handful of powder and announces Potter's home, proceeding with no more invitation, and landing as gracefully as is possible in Harry's home.

"Well you don't waste any time." Harry enters with his wife and brother-in-law close behind.

"I've wasted enough trying to piece this together, no thanks to you, Potter." He looks up and gives a nod to the other wizard. "Weasley."

Ron nods back in understanding. It is the closest thing to gratitude he would expect.

Moving to sit without invitation, Draco takes the center of a loveseat on the South side of the room and lays the satchel down on the Potters' coffee table. "This however, was quite helpful." He looks up at them expectantly as they all stare down at him. "You may as well sit; there is a conversation that needs to be had."

Slightly jolted, each of the three move to sit: Harry and Ginny together on their large sofa, Ron in the fireside they rarely use.

"I went to see my Father." As he speaks, he is unbuckling the satchel and placing the book, open to the ribbon marked page, on the table between them. "This handwriting here," he points, "this is his. "I'm sure you know that." He moves his finger up the page, to the passage that reads ' _In conjunction with Compulsio Repleo'._

"But this? This isn't his. Is it one of yours?"

They all shake their heads and Harry, the silently elected leader of the group, says, "No, it's not. None of ours."

"You can't tell me whose I suppose."

Harry is thoughtful a moment. "Not as such. But… why don't we just keep talking. Maybe you'll ask… better questions."

"Have any of you cursed Granger?" A silent chorus of shaking heads.

"Did you _want_ whatever this is to happen to her?"

"That's…" Harry contemplates, eyes searching, "too complicated to answer simply." Draco nods in understanding.

"My Father. He says this wasn't his idea, but not yours either." He pauses and closes his eyes just a moment. "It was _hers_ wasn't it? Whatever this is, Granger wanted done to herself."

"Yes." Three matching answers, eager that they can finally assist.

"Why?" He whispers the question, more to himself, knowing they can't really answer. They are all predictably silent.

Draco stands and begins to pace. "I'm going to assume everything I say is correct. Just say no if I have anything wrong."

He continues, "Hermione wanted this spell done so she must have… had trouble. After the war. Adjusting or dealing with something. But you can't cast this type of spell on yourself. And there's no way you lot could do this. So… so you went to my Father for some reason." He stops and turns to them.

"Lucius doesn't do anything from kindness. You… gave him something?" Harry nods. Only Harry.

Draco's mind runs back through everything he knows thus far. Clever as he is, what he would love right now is the sharp intellect of Hermione Granger to help him piece it together. It makes him miss her more. Which motivates him.

So what was the bargain? Something that only Potter agreed to give…

 _Trial date July 9_

His eyes widen a little and he focuses on Harry, effectively ignoring the other two. "Your testimony. That was what he wanted; what you gave him. Your testimony that helped absolve me."

Harry nods and looks away, having trouble meeting his eye.

"You wouldn't have testified otherwise, would you," Draco sneers.

He sees Potter sigh before he speaks. "I might have, had I been asked. As it was, no one from the ministry asked my opinion. Your defense is who called me to the stand." He looks back and reconnects their eye contact. "I didn't lie for you if that's what you think. I believed what I said about you being motivated by fear and I didn't think you deserved Azkaban necessarily. But honestly? Yeah you weren't my top priority, all right? Fred was dead," Ron and Ginny flinch, "Sirius? Dead. Dumbledore, dead. Remus, Tonks, even poor, ridiculous Colin Creevey. And you were alive!" His voice rises as he speaks, the edge in it increasing to anger. "Alive and calling my friend Mudblood and terrorizing me in my memories of you. So no, Malfoy, you were not my concern by that point." Ginny places a calming hand on Harry's shoulder and he looks away.

It's an anger Draco has not seen from anyone in a long time. The anger he expected from Hermione. Needed, in a way. Almost as a reflex but too distracted by current pursuits to care, he gives an obligatory, "Fuck you, Potter." He flops back down on the sofa, dropping his face in his hands.

He hears Harry sigh again but it is Ron who speaks. "She's not been like this in a long time." Draco looks at him in question. "Since you left her I mean. She's not as… content as she has been the last few years."

"So I, what then, messed up the curse?"

"Broke through a little," Ginny offers but it is quiet and she says it more as a question. Draco hopes she will elaborate but she doesn't. Or can't, perhaps.

She does, however, look up and speak again. "Do you love Hermione, Malfoy?" Draco looks around the room, hesitating to admit… weakness? That's how he was raised to think. Ultimately, though, he looks back at her and nods.

Ginny smiles softly. "Well I think she loves you. More than anyone else."

Ron looks away at that. Draco notices from the corner of his eye. A victory it may be but it feels hollow today, under the circumstances.

"Then what do you suggest, eh? Go back and just… live with it? Marry her? Have children? Grow old together? And the entire time, she will be terrified of me but only _sometimes_?" His voice has risen, as has he, and his tall frame looms over the room.

Harry and Ginny look at each other and Harry, have returned to his more typical calm demeanor, takes over the conversation once again. "I think you should try to make her happy. _Truly_ happy. Take that as you will." There is a significant… something… in his tone. _Take that as you will,_ repeats in Draco's head.

Draco ponders a moment. "Do you know who cursed her? I mean, who actually performed the spell?"

Quickly, with no hesitation, they all answer, "no."

He hadn't expected that.

XXXXX

When Draco leaves the Potter's home, he knows where he wants to go. But first, he detours to Malfoy manor. He never came back on Boxing Day. Whatever he was searching for in the library, he already had. Now he has a different goal. As for his Mother, he's not seen her since Christmas night.

"Draco? Is that you, Darling?" Narcissa finds him rummaging through a room on the west end of the manor.

"Yes, Mother, in the cupboard."

Draco looks up to see his Mother peak around the open door where he is standing amongst the shelves of the small space. "What are you doing, little lamb?"

Draco smiles a little at her silly endearment, one he has not heard in some time.

"Looking for a gift. I'm going to see Hermione today but I wanted to give her something special."

"I think that's wonderful. Jewelry perhaps? You seem to be digging through great aunt Elizabeth's things."

"Yes, I was hoping to brew a potion to infuse it. Maybe something to clear her mind."

"That won't work, Draco."

At his name, no endearment, and her naked tone, Draco stops and finally looks at his Mother. "You _know_." His eyes search hers when she doesn't respond. "You know! And you didn't tell me? You watched me tear the manor apart looking for answers!"

"How do you imagine the young Weasley came across a Black family book?" She smiles a serene smile.

"Are you? Did you take a vow as well?"

"I did. But I am more clever than your Father. Mine is more specific. Come with me, Draco. I have something for you."

Draco's head is full to bursting with questions, accusations even. He tries to be civil to not jeopardize any help his Mother will give. "Why didn't you tell me what you could when she had her attack in the drawing room?"

"I assumed it was a one-off. You stayed with her months more after that and remained happy. It was only on Christmas that I realized the extent of her issues. That is when I searched for the book, which had been hidden even from me."

"By whom? The wizard who cast the spell on her?"

Narcissa shakes her head 'no'.

"By Hermione then? So no one would try to reverse it?"

She looks up to him with a Mother's pride. Then her smile falters and she adds, "That type of magic is incredibly dangerous to remove without the consent of the subject."

"How am I to get consent when I can't even talk to her about it? Every time I'm near her, my every instinct is to leave it alone."

"Yes, well, that was my handiwork. But on that, I took no vow. That, my dove, is where I can help you."

"Wait," he stops her, laying a hand on his arm, "did you…did you do this? Cast this curse?"

Her lips thin and she makes no move to speak. It's all the confirmation he needs and releases her arm, following her once more.

His Mother, master Occlumens.

 _Huh. Who knew?_

As they have walked, they've entered into Narcissa's own wing of the manor, directly to her private chamber. She waves Draco in to follow and opens the door of her wardrobe. Sweeping the clothes to the sides, Draco watches her unlatch a small compartment and pulls out a vial. The glass is opaque and stoppered with a small cork. She turns and hands it to her son.

"The silver ingredient that I gifted you? Combine one quarter of that with this entire vial then give it to her to drink. She won't want to if she knows what it is. Her subconscious mind will warn her of the effects. Add it to another liquid to drink or tell her it is of some innocuous purpose."

"What will this do? Not hurt her? I won't do anything to harm her."

Narcissa shakes her head. "No, not hurt. This will counteract the compulsion charm cast upon her. That inexplicable need you have to make her happy? Compulsio Repleo. An old spell Pureblood witches would sometimes cast on themselves to keep their husbands in line. When your spouse is chosen for you with no free will, you never know if he might be a brute. This makes it less likely he would be… less than a gentleman. This," she points again to the vial in her son's hand, "will end that. You will be able to speak with her more freely. To discuss… serious matters."

Understanding comes like an ocean wave. Draco remembers each time he had tried to brooch the subject of Hermione's impossible forgiveness, or to talk about her nightmares, if only to comfort.

Then he thinks a bit more deeply and he frowns, suddenly apprehensive and perhaps even sad. "Mother?...Is this why? Do you think the way I feel for her?..." He doesn't want to ask.

But Narcissa only shakes her head. "No, Draco. You don't love her because of a charm. It's not that powerful. It suggests that you keep her satisfied and free from fear but nothing more. No, I'm afraid you truly love her."

She narrows her eyes and purses her lips before she continues. "But I need you to understand that she is not… Her forgiveness is…" Narcissa huffs in frustration. She has reached the limit of her Vow.

Draco, however, is perceptive and he nods. "She may not be able to forgive me. She may not love me so readily if she agrees to having the other spell removed."

His Mother nods. "If she does agree, bring her here to the manor."

He leans over and kisses his Mother on the cheek, starting to take his leave. He pauses however before he turns. "Is this why you gave me the potion vial on Christmas? For this?"

She smiles. "That liquid, as I told you, can do _many_ things. This is just what you need from it now."

 **A/N - Just another quick note to say thank you for the continued follows and reviews. I try to respond to reviews via PM and apologize if I missed any. It's the least I can do for the jolt of joy they provide. On that topic, since I can't respond to anonymous reviews directly, I wanted to give a quick note to cover those as well. Thank you White Pawn and the other Guest for your thoughtful comments.**


	17. Chapter 17

The one thing Draco had not really considered was his own inner turmoil. Two decades of abject selfishness leaves him wondering: is he doing this for Hermione? Or for himself?

He has been standing outside her flat for fifteen minutes, a six pack of the blackest muggle beer he could find in hand; one bottle magically resealed with the odorless potion mixed within. But doing this feels dirty. The selfish Draco doesn't care. He wants his witch back and he wants her whole. The pragmatic Draco agrees. After all, what kind of happiness is this manufactured quality she has had. It could even affect her health in the long run.

But there is this other piece that knows he is taking something away from her that she wanted. So what if she had some episodes? She doesn't linger on them. This peace that she has found, went to great lengths to obtain, can he strip that away without hesitation?

Apparently not because he is hesitating. Draco has spent his recent life attempting to "do the right thing" in most matters. After so many years of being an entitled prat at best, an evil terrorist at worst, doing "right", he had always imagined, should be easy. But it seems there are grey areas on both sides. Is this act righteously grey?

Ultimately, Ronald Weasley might deserve a bit of thanks (or culpability) for pushing the decision. If that redheaded git thinks this needs to be done, not to mention Potter and his she-Weasel, then surely this must be "right". He knocks softly and is surprised when the door opens almost instantly.

She doesn't speak for a moment. He knows this is his last chance to suspend this course of action.

"I wondered if you were going to change your mind," she says with a soft smile.

He grins back. He's missed her terribly and seeing her is almost enough to drown out his concerns. "You knew I was here?"

"Crooks. He always seems to know when someone is about to call. Extra super cat hearing or some such thing." She hesitates a moment and nibbles her bottom lip. "Would you like to come in?"

"Gods, yes."

And he does.

XXXXX

Hermione had been standing stock still on the other side of the door with her heart racing just a little. She had caught a flash of white blond hair through the tiny window (more decorative than functional) on the upper part of the door and frozen in her tracks. She waited for him to knock, worrying her lip anxiously, nervous he might turn around and leave.

 _But he's come all the way here._

 _He wouldn't bother to show up just to walk away._

 _Why stand there and not knock?_

Five minutes more and she will open the door, hoping he hasn't slunk away in the meantime.

Really, where is her Gryffindor courage anyway? She's Hermione Granger for Godric's sake. Golden Girl of the same-described Trio. She reaches forward, just barely brushing her fingertips on the knob only to be startled by the knock she had decided would never come. She flings the door open on instinct and sees his face, shocked by her speed in answering.

There is a moment that neither of them speak. She is sure she sees his eyes dart as if he might be looking for an exit, an escape. Fight versus flight. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Hermione versus Draco.

She speaks first, blurting out the first thing she thinks but with a somewhat shy demeanor. "I wondered if you were going to change your mind." She offers him a smile that he doesn't reject, rewarding her with his own instead.

"You knew I was here?"

She is a little stumped. How could she have missed that shock of hair or his heavy steps? She makes up something about Crookshanks lest it seem awkward that she was standing inside her door, waiting for him to knock. Eager to be on with it, she invites him inside.

He accepts with what she might call relief and steps past her into the flat. Shutting the door behind her, she then leads him to sit, careful to choose a chair for herself as to not presume anything by sitting beside him on the sofa.

"I brought your usual." His smile falters a little and there is a pause, like he isn't sure how to proceed. Hermione feels his hesitation and her concern grows that he might be regretting coming here. Finally he removes a bottle from the cardboard case and twists off the cap for her.

She accepts the bottle with a smile and takes a long pull, humming in satisfaction. She notices Draco take his own bottle and also drinks. His hands are shaking slightly like he's nervous and it makes her smile.

How endearing.

"I've missed you terribly," he blurts out. The silence broken, he seems to relax and swipes his hand through his hair, forcing his bangs back and letting them fall back down, brushing his eyes. She'd nearly forgotten that charming little habit and blushes just barely; one shade deeper on the color wheel at most.

"I've missed you too. Are you... does this mean we..." Hermione is something she is not accustomed to: At a loss for words. Part of her wants to be angry that he ever left but really, he's here now. Why dwell on what's already past? He came back and he looks repentant and adorable. She stands and moves to sit beside him. He eyes her warily but makes no move to scoot away as her knees brush his.

He takes a drink and she does the same, hoping it will put him at ease. She's brave but she spoke last so she will wait for him, giving him all the time he needs.

When Ron left she hadn't fought. He was probably the most serious of her previous entanglements and yet when he told her she didn't love him she couldn't argue because she hadn't. Not like this anyway. With Draco, she will give more. The least she can offer is patience.

"I'm not sure what it means exactly. But I hope... something? I need to know that what we have is real. Maybe it wouldn't have had to matter but I need it to be. You forgiving me, you loving me, Granger, it matters more than I could say."

Hermione lets out a soft gasp as he lays one palm against her cheek, brushing her skin with his thumb. "I love you. I can be good to you no matter what you might think deep down."

She closes her eyes and whimpers a little at his touch, at his declaration that she wasn't sure she heard correctly when he'd said it before. It had been buried in a rush of floo powder and fire and she was almost sure she misunderstood. She could weep from the thrill, staring into those grey eyes.

But his tone is so odd and she shakes her head just slightly. "I know that, Draco. I'm not the one who left; you don't need to convince me."

"Not now maybe. But just remember it in case you ever doubt."

She feels his hand drop and he picks up the drink again. She's never known him to be much of a fan of beer, especially the molasses black she prefers, but knows he is, for some reason, terribly nervous. She takes another deep drink, joining him in solidarity, realizing she has nearly finished the entire bottle with her generous gulps.

Draco takes a breath to speak and she sees something flash across his eyes. A realization perhaps? She steels herself, unsure she likes his new expression.

"Hermione, why did you do this to yourself? This curse? Where did you even find out how to do the spell?" There is a serious tone in his voice. Almost accusation.

"What are you-? Draco stop this." She rises from the couch and looks down at him in question.

He follows her action and stands as well, placing his hands on her arms and holding her in place. "I'm so sorry but I have to ask this. You can't imagine… Months I watched you wither from my touch then snap back to that oblivious happiness. I've broken the Compulsio Repleo charm."

"I-How could you know?" She takes a step back but he follows, continuing to speak in a firm but soothing tone. Hermione however does not feel soothed.

"I've been trying to put all of this together. I've been to see your friends and my Father."

"Lucius? You don't speak. You said it's been years-"

"You're more than worth it, love." He strokes her cheek with his forefinger, the softest caress he's ever shared with her and her eyes flutter closed.

The contact is heartbreakingly brief and then he is speaking again, making her cringe with truth. "I want all of you. Even the broken bits. I'd spend a lifetime helping you fix them. Whatever it was that pushed you too far: The war, Bellatrix, Fred…me."

She flinches with each listed trauma and shakes her head. "No, I don't like to talk about those things." She turns away and starts to walk. "Would you like another beer? I'm just going to get a glass-"

"No." He has grabbed her arm. Not painful but there is no contest he is strong enough to hold her, even if she struggled. "Don't walk away. Please."

Hermione searches his eyes. Her carefully crafted mental walls are faltering and she doesn't care for it. "I'm fine, Draco. Ok? Please I don't want to talk about this. Any of this. Can't we just be together? I love you. I _promise_ , I love you. Let's just… let's get some dinner. We can talk over dinner and then tomorrow we can just… take it as it comes, just like we've been doing right?" He voice is rising and she feels a tension in her whole body, panic taking her in waves.

"What are you so afraid of?!" He's not raised his voice like this at her before. At least, not since they were children. She'd forgotten the way his silver eyes could flash. She remembers the sneer of a young boy.

 _Filthy little Mudblood._

His hair is slicked back in her mind and he is leaning too close, jabbing one finger into her collar bone.

 _Bushy-haired bint._

"Hermione, what's wrong? I'm sorry I didn't mean to yell."

He's close and tall and looming and there's that mark, that awful brand on his arm.

"Get away from me, _Ferret_ ," she growls out in response.

He takes a step back, eyes widened, and she smirks. _Momma's-boy prat was always a coward_ , she muses.

"Fucking Death Eater snake…"

Her smirk falters and she looks at her lover, watching her with horror. He's not a boy, not a bully. He loves her. Not Malfoy…

"Draco. Oh Gods, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

He shudders a breath and steps forward again. "I know. But that… that's why. I know you'll forget or it becomes less important, however this works, but try to remember this moment. This is why you have to let me find a way to break this curse. Or you can't be with me. _I_ can't be with _you_."

She feels his arm circle her and pull her close. It's all she can do to keep the tears at bay. She hurts him and he hurts her. Because she protected herself?

That's ridiculous of course. Protection is just that. The rest will work itself out.

She lays her head on his shoulder, nuzzling her nose into his neck. He smells divine. Sandalwood and bergamot, clove and malt. An exotic and masculine mix and suddenly nothing else seems to be very important. She tips her head up so she can place a soft kiss on his neck, just below his jaw, and she feels him shudder. Emboldened by his reaction, she leans up further and kisses the lobe of his ear, allowing her tongue to dart playfully between her lips and tickle his skin as she does. He groans softly and runs one hand higher up her back.

"I've missed you." She whispers the promise into the shell of his ear then continues placing her wet kisses back down his jawline. Suddenly he's had enough of her sweet teasing and bruises her mouth with his own, taking her kiss like a thief.

Draco pulls back, his warm breath fanning her lips as he rasps out, "We still have to talk about this. I want to take you to the manor tomorrow. I think Mother can help-"

"Whatever you want. Tomorrow," she breathes. Hermione forces her lips back around his, shoving her tongue back into his mouth and moving her hands to his belt. She unbuckles him roughly and immediately starts work on the button and zipper of his trousers. For his part, Draco seems to have given up on conversation and is frantically trying to work the buttons of her blouse.

Finally she feels the last button give and Draco shoves the blouse from her shoulders, his hands immediately then finding her breasts and pushing the material of her bra down to reveal them, his palms running across her hardened nipples. She arches her back and moans into his mouth.

Not to be outdone, Hermione is equally aggressive when she finally finishes with his zipper and shoves his trousers down below his hips. She places her hands on his chest and pushes him backwards. His trust level is complete, allowing her control, total faith the sofa will be there to catch him. And of course it is.

He falls hard into the cushions but their kiss barely breaks. She follows him down, straddling his lap and grinding against his length; her soaked knickers the only thin barrier between them. She throws her head back, curls cascading down and tickling his thighs as she increases her fevered pace. He's not even entered her and she could nearly come from the friction.

"Fuck, Granger, I won't last-" He very nearly laughs. "If you want me to fuck you I suggest you take those off or you're going to be disappointed."

She growls in frustration, distracted from her almost peak. Reaching between them, she shoves the wet fabric to one side and positions him against her. "There. Better?"

He smirks against her mouth and thrusts upward, hard. "Better. Gods, much…better."

He's right, he doesn't last long. But then, neither does she.

In the end, they are draped together, tangled and slick with sweat, on her cozy sofa. She knows they are supposed to have a serious conversation tomorrow but really, why worry about such things? He loves her and he's amazing and she's feeling completely, thoroughly, deliciously fucked.

"Why does he always do that?"

Hermione raises her head from Draco's chest and follows his line of sight to look over her shoulder. She's met by the narrowed and annoyed eyes of her feline familiar. "He just missed you is all."

Draco scoffs but she nuzzles into him and sighs in contentment. "We both did."

She feels him kiss the top of her head and wraps his arms a little tighter. "I'll not leave again, Hermione. Not unless you make me."

A beat.

"But that cat is a menace."

She giggles a little but is already half asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Draco wakes slowly, a trickle of sunlight dancing across his face, and breathes deep the scent of his witch. They are entwined together in the folds of her bed, having moved sometime during the night after their reunion.

He hadn't intended said reunion to be so physical. The effects of this curse are challenging and he'd become frustrated in his attempts to discuss it with her. Not to mention distracted, having missed her desperately for days.

Today, he will not be dissuaded.

"Morning."

Draco looks down to see his lover smiling up at him but eyes still closed. He's missed the way her voice is thick and rough in the early morning. He's missed her silken legs wrapped up with his own. He's missed the cupid's bow of her lip, stretching into a smile meant for him. He's even missed that mess of hair invading his space, finding its way into his mouth and ticking his nose.

"Morning, Ms. Granger. You look well and shagged this morning."

She hums, "That I am. Might we have more of that on the schedule today, Mr. Malfoy?"

His smile falters just slightly and he kisses her nose. "Perhaps, love. But first let's have some breakfast and then I want to take a trip to the manor."

He feels her tense a little and pulls her close. "I'll be with you the entire time and we won't step foot anywhere you don't feel comfortable." He finds her mouth and kisses her softly. "Let me take care of you. You don't need some dark curse to hide you away. I think you're made of sterner stuff. Have faith in yourself if not in me, yeah?"

He feels her hesitate a moment then nod against him. They are silent a moment and she breaks it with her usual bright voice. "You promised breakfast. What's your plan for that because I've no energy to cook."

He chuckles and, with one last kiss on her forehead, begins to climb from her embrace. "You right destroyed any energy I had. Let's grab something on the way to Wiltshire. You choose."

"Waffles!" She's leapt from the bed and is hopping into a pair of yoga pants before he can so much as agree.

Draco smiles at her enthusiasm. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind he hopes to Merlin he isn't making a mistake; that he isn't about to snuff out her radiant light.

XXXXX

The waffles were excellent.

Hermione is strolling happily with her re-united love away from Muggle London to an apparition point. Draco wants to take her to the manor. He seems adamant so she isn't going to argue. He's happy. She's happy.

 _They_ are happy. Together.

Best not to consider anything that might be upsetting. Worry does nothing to solve issues anyway.

"So is your Mother expecting us today?"

"She is. Do you... do you remember meeting her a few years ago?"

"Oh of course. Many times. Mostly I just caught a glimpse at King's Cross."

"No I mean after. Did you meet with her when you saw Lucius after the war?"

She wrinkles her nose, trying to remain calm and brush the topic off. "I don't like to talk about the war. Or anytime around it really."

"I know, love. Just remember: It's all over. And if our world saw His like again, I would kill Him myself to keep you safe. Do you believe me?"

"I do." And she does, truly. But she doesn't like to think about it and really, why is he being so dramatic? Her whole world right now is just this: sauntering down a quiet street with her handsome companion, his hand engulfing hers, lightly brushing his arm with her shoulder as they walk.

When they leave the Muggle neighborhood and re-enter the Wizarding world, Draco drapes his arm around her gently. "You'll have to side along to the manor. I've adjusted the wards so I can apparate in but they are old and stubborn spells. Only family can pass through."

She nods but says, "I hate side along."

"We all do," he laughs a little. "I'll make you a deal though. When we leave, provided you want me anywhere near you," he mumbles the aside, " _you_ can apparate us away to anywhere you like. I won't even grumble a complaint."

Hermione smiles up at him. "Plus I choose lunch."

Draco rolls his eyes at her. "Breakfast _and_ lunch? All for one tiny side along?"

She tips up on her toes and places a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. It is chaste in theory but there is a promise in her wet lips and lingering break. "You have trouble saying 'no' to me as I recall."

He turns his head only slightly, just enough to line up with her mouth and give her a proper kiss. "You're right, I really do."

"But you still have to side along," he finished quickly. Draco winks and grabs her waist, cutting off her protest as the world swirls them away.

XXXX

"Mother?"

Narcissa enters the room in a swish of taffeta skirt and stops when she sees her son and his lover.

"Draco darling, good morning. And to you, Miss Granger. I sense my compulsion charm has been removed. I don't feel the same need to dance around certain topics."

"Yes, ma'am, Draco thought it was for the best. I think he worries too much truthfully but if it makes him happy...," she shrugs her shoulders.

"I suppose you know he wants you here so I can break the curse."

Hermione's eyes widen and she looks back at Draco. "I guess... I mean he did say something about that now that you mention it. Can it be broken? I don't really see the need myself. I'm quite content."

Draco leans in close to her and says softly, "Remember what happened last night."

She blushes and swats his arm, "Of course I do but that's hardly appropriate."

Narcissa blanches.

"Merlin, Hermione, not that... when you…when you called me a Death Eater."

"Oh yes, that, but I apologized. Really you can be very sensitive." She grins like this isn't serious, like they're teasing.

Draco looks up at his Mother. "Can you break it? Without harming her of course?"

Narcissa scoffs and waves her hand, pacing a little as she speaks. "Of course I can, Draco. I'd never cast a curse I can't also break. It would be terribly anti-karmic of me. But you have to agree, Miss Granger. The subject must be willing. Are you, my dear? Willing?"

Hermione glances back at her lover and he smiles reassuringly. "I... I suppose I am yes. This is what you want, Draco?"

The doubts invade his mind again. Is it? Is this what he wants? Without the compulsion charm forcing him to keep her satisfied, he is left only with his own selfish desires. Even still, what is more selfish? She loves him now. The occasional nightmare and calling him 'ferret'? She's happy and he's heard worse. He doubts the nightmares will go away when the curse is broken. They will most likely intensify until she can properly heal, as he has. It took years after the war for Draco to sleep without seeing Voldemort's snake-like face sneering down at him while his aunt sent Crucio curses his way. Is it selfish to keep her like this, making her forever his, or more so to break the curse and condemn her to months, even years, of mental healing. She will have arrested in that process at age 18.

"I want you to be truly happy," he says, remembering Potter's words. "But I want to make you happy, not just have a curse that blocks you being unhappy. Also, you've made me feel redeemed. I guess it's selfish but I want to believe it's true."

"She might not forgive you. Remember that, dove." Narcissa has spoken quietly across the room. "I don't just mean for your... spirited personality at Hogwarts. I mean for asking me to break this."

"Oh that's silly, Mrs. Malfoy. There's nothing to forgive really." She is beaming at him but Draco has locked eyes with his Mother. Their silent exchange ends with a simple nod of his head and Narcissa closes her eyes, nodding back in response.

"Let's retire to the solarium shall we, Miss Granger? Draco, will you fetch us some water please."

"I could just ring Tilby-"

"Please make yourself scarce and do as your Mother bids." Her voice is a stern and Draco feels like a young boy. Only his Mother can so degrade his confidence nigh arrogance as she does.

"Yes, Mother." He kisses Hermione's cheek and stalks out of the room in search of water for the ladies, and perhaps something stronger for himself.

XXXXX

Hermione follows Draco's Mother into a room made almost entirely of glass save the floor and one wall. "What a lovely space."

Narcissa smiles back, not unkindly but not precisely beaming either, and motions for her to sit. Hermione flops down a little less delicately than she'd intended, and is engulfed by the overstuffed yellow cushions. Watching Mrs. Malfoy sit primly at the edge of her seat, as if suspended by sheer will, makes her feel like a rampaging Hippogriff by comparison. How can any one person be so bloody proper _all the time_?

"Take my hand, pet." Hermione obeys and notes the cool touch of the woman's skin, but also how delightfully soft and smooth her hands are for an older witch.

 _Good genes, this family. Our children would have great skin_.

How forward her thoughts, she muses to herself. But after all he did say he would never leave her. She smiles up at his Mother but sees that Narcissa's friendly countenance has been replaced by a slight frown.

"When I'm done with this, you may be angry. You will most likely be sad. Hold on to whatever happiness you have found these last few years as a lighthouse in the tempest. I also want you to remember my son did this because he loves you but also in spite of it. I know he understands the risks that you might reject him. I hope that you prove that concern false for his sake."

She pauses a moment and then continues. "You were not my choice. Your heritage is unfortunate but more than that, you are broken. What's worse, you broke yourself. The heritage I can come to accept. I do not despise you as I might have once though I still value the old ways. But the other... Malfoy women are strong, Hermione Granger. My son would bring you into this family whether he has admitted it to you or even to himself. I require that you find your strength; your famed Gryffindor courage. For him, I do this. I expect you'll do your part as well."

Hermione is stunned and simply nods dumbly at this frightening woman, wondering where the doting, nearly simpering Mother has gone.

"Then we begin."


	19. Chapter 19

Draco finds himself pacing the hall just outside the solarium with 2 glasses of water in his hand. He's not sure if his Mother intended him to remain scarce while she performed the counter curse or simply to have a few moments alone with Hermione before they could begin. After a short time stalling, the curiosity and concern are too much and he lets himself into the room.

Hermione is sitting with her back to him, her posture rigid and her hands gripping the arms of her chair. Narcissa faces her, eyes screwed shut. Draco sees her mouth moving silently, her wand moving in their air. Rather than the usual swish and flick, simple moves of wizardry, it is as though she is writing with her wand, tracing the words she speaks. He imagines he wouldn't understand their meaning even if he could hear. He saw the book; the ancient words on the spell page. This is no easy task and he slows his steps, careful to make no sound. His Mother has one finger delicately laid on Hermione's knee.

Circling behind his witch, Draco sits down in the chair to her left and quietly places the glasses on the small table in front of him. He hears Hermione whimper and notices a sheen of sweat forming on his Mother's usually impeccable visage.

Can he take his witch's hand? Can he comfort? Or is this all he can do: Endure her evident discomfort, impotent of any ability to ease her pain.

It occurs to him he might've asked that in advance if he'd so considered. His Mother shuffling him from the room had thrown him off his proverbial game.

After consideration, searching his knowledge banks for information on curse breaking of his nature, he knows his Mother is really the one concentrating, the one not to be disturbed. Surely, it cannot hurt to offer what little he can to his lover.

Draco lays his hand gently on Hermione's arm and gasps in surprise as he is pulled away, as if he had tried to enter her mind but with no effort of his own.

XXXXX

Hermione is vaguely aware that she is not alone in a physical sense but yet vulnerable as well. She sees flashes of memories, watching from the sidelines as if in a pensieve, but more personal at the same time. This experience is wholly different than any other.

A soft hum surrounds her and soothes. It sounds like a voice, soft but powerful, speaking a language long forgotten. She allows the drone of it like a mantra to ease her concerns and center her soul.

The memories are hazy in the beginning. She is a child and she watches herself toddle around her parent's dental practice. The patients sneer at her. They don't think she belongs here. _It's not professional_ , they whisper. Perhaps they're right but it stings a little at her tender age. Her Mother is short tempered, asking her to sit patiently, read a book or something, don't touch that, stop asking so many questions.

She remembers she learned early that books have more patience than people. She reaches for one after another of the picture books in their muggle waiting room. Sesame Street and Clifford and The Aristocats keep her company that day. Then, in but a moment, The Eyes of the Dragon is in her hands instead. A fantasy about Kings and Wizards and Dragons. She is a little older now. Eight, maybe nine. She was warned by the librarian the book was too old for her but she reads ahead of her age and her parents are happy to approve. Caught somewhere between pride at her intellect and relief she is self-sufficient, they leave her to her own devices. She doesn't yet know she is a witch, but the book will come to her mind when she finds out. When she meets Voldemort she will think of Flagg.

The little girl walks out of the room into the shadows and looks up into her mature face. "It was lonely a lot." The girls sits down cross-legged on the ground and watches with her.

The dentist office rotates away from view, the edges of her vision bleeding into King's Cross Station and the familiar Express that will take her to her new school. Her parents leave her quickly. They love her, they say, but they are supremely uncomfortable.

She finds a young boy, most likely her age. He is sitting in one of the cars surrounded by friends yet looking at a book. How perfect! A friendly, popular kid her age but he's also smart. She introduces herself and he grins a naked, open smile. Draco, he says. Such a unique name. Life is about to be so much better. Finally she will belong, be accepted, appreciated. But it is oh so brief. Suddenly his smile is a sneer and he looms over her. He hates her before he even knows she has that same book he was reading. Before she can tell him green is her favorite color and she loves his tie. He hates her because she didn't know she was magic before. He hates her for where she's from.

And again she is alone, reading a book, while the world moves in circles around her.

That adolescent girl sets her book aside walks through the dew damp grass and looks first down at the little girl and then to her older self. "I learned what real disappointment is."

She is sitting in the grass, petulantly waiting her turn for a broom. She doesn't want to do this. She says it's dangerous and unnecessary. She says she doesn't like stupid quiddich and that apparating is far more efficient. In truth she is terrified of heights. And because she is terrified she is angry. Witches ride brooms. Even muggles know that. So she is scared and mad and her defense is to belittle and scold. Other students sneer at her. The blond with the green tie is the worst, but even her friends think she's being ridiculous. How can she be the best, prove her worth in a world where she is an outsider, when she can't accomplish this task? When the class period is over, she stalks off, and sneaks to the restricted section of the library. Not even her friends know how much time she spends here. She thinks the librarian has caught her but says nothing. It makes her feel a little better. Books and their keeper. She is accepted here.

She rises from the chair and looks at the cluster of Hermione Grangers. "I became quite adept at hiding."

Hogwarts takes over her memories, almost drowning out her infrequent visits to the muggle world, though not entirely. Occasionally she is in her room at home, reading spell books, her Mother pursing her lips in frustration. It is Christmas and her parents have bought her CDs and designer clothes. She thanks them. She likes the music. The clothes are probably styles and labels coveted by her old muggle friends. But she already doesn't belong quite enough at Hogwarts and these possessions will only make it the more obvious. She'd asked for a new set of vials for potions. She wanted the newest edition of Hogwarts: A History. She wanted new robes to not be outdone by all the pureblood girls who had new sets every year. It wasn't that they couldn't afford these things. It was a question of priority. And maybe, she thinks, sabotaging just a little. Her parents like her quiet and studious and expect she will follow them into a medical practice.

Maybe they imagine the Wizarding world to be nothing more than a sort of immersive trend. A hobby.

She takes a taxi to King's Cross that year. Her parents are working. She tells them that it's fine. At the platform, Ron and Harry are already immersed in discussion about brooms and quiddich and chocolate frogs. They _eventually_ say hello.

This girl shuffles her feet and joins the other Hermiones of varying age without looking at any of them. She whispers, "I was sure I'd never find my place."

On the lush school grounds, the boy with the green tie calls her Mudblood. It doesn't hurt yet, not like it will later, because she doesn't know what it means. He's called her ugly and bushy-haired and swotty and those hurt worse than this. But then she finds out how much worse it really is.

This Hermione stomps away from the scene and stamps her foot with a huff. "Bitter would be the word that comes to mind."

Alone in the library, she reads a story by a muggle. It's about a world where everyone is the same. She thinks… no she _knows_ admittedly… it's not supposed to be a good world the author describes. It's a dystopian commentary on government and control. But this tiny piece of Hermione Granger wonders; if the beautiful girls had to wear a mask, if the strongest boys were weighed down…

If we forgot the really sad things…

Would it be easier?

Maybe she wouldn't have to try so hard to be the brightest all the time. Maybe she could just laugh and flirt and dance _sometimes_.

Harrison Bergeron.

She reads it often after that.

XXXXX

Draco finds himself watching Hermione as she is also watching Hermione. Each major moment of her life ends with a Hermione of a different age joining her and then watching in silence. The woman he loves is standing to the shadows of a forgotten world. The other ones, the girls, seem less vibrant but grow in intensity, in color as each joins their ranks. He sees himself more times than he cares to count in her memories. It's not her whole life she sees. Mostly just the bad bits. The lonely nights. The anger. So of course he is a major player.

He watches her break a little boy's nose and he cringes at the memory of the terrifying crunch.

But he almost wants to applaud the slight girl. Petite thing that she is, he remembers being just a little afraid of her after that.

 _Little git deserved it too_ , he thinks.

Another girl flops down on the ground with her arms crossed and spits out, "I learned how to hate."

Suddenly he is swept into a ball room and his lover is entering on the arm of Victor Krum. Draco remembers the moment vividly but in _her_ memory of this, he is not even supporting cast. Not even chorus. Center stage in her memory is Harry fawning after Cho Chang and, more prominently, Weasley making eyes at Lavender Brown. Draco remembers watching her descend the stairs and thinking she is radiant. Her hair is tamed and piled atop her head in a luxurious mess of curl. The gown she wears hugs her just-blossoming figure. He had stared a little too long the first time, Pansy Parkinson making a big show of using one dainty finger to lift his jaw, closing his gaping mouth.

This is lost on her in Hermione's memory. She hadn't noticed him that night. Her friends, however, may as well be in a spotlight and they don't notice her.

 _How the bloody fuck did they_ not _notice?_

Draco looks to the woman version of the girl as she watches herself fall apart a little. It's after the dance and she is wiping the make-up from her face. The tears help it run from her eyes.

Eye liner still streaked on her cheeks, this Hermione moves to stand away from the rest, one hand crossing her figure and clutching the opposite arm, a protective stance, and shuffles her feet. "I let other people decide my value."

He sees moment after moment leading up to the war. Snape is cruel, making her feel stupid and mundane. Her parents are absent even when she is in their home. Harry and Ron look to her when they need help, for school projects, for deadly adventures he is sure they wouldn't have survived. Students from all houses roll their eyes as she raises her hand in every class. And again and again there he is, Draco Malfoy, sneering at her.

Mudblood.

Swot.

Bushy-haired beaver.

Sneering and smirking and laughing his cruel dark laugh.

He's not sure if he is allowed to do this, if it will help or hurt or nothing at all, but he approaches the vision of her adult form and wraps his arms around her shoulders from behind. "None of this matters now. I'll beg your forgiveness forever then worship you if you give it. I'm so sorry for all of it."

The form of Hermione raises her hands to his arms and holds them there. He is encouraged. Perhaps this is his role here today. He will comfort her through all of it. Bellatrix, he knows, will be rough, but really how much worse could it get?

XXXXX

Hermione feels Draco wrap his pale arms around her and breathes a deep breath. She's not sure if he has done this in her mind or in real life or if he is really anything more than her own method of coping. Regardless, it is welcome.

Her time at Hogwarts is moving ever faster and suddenly Draco is no longer her concern. The Daily Prophet headlines start to appear. Harry is whispering in the common room of the Dark Lord and other terrifying things. Muggles and muggle-borns are being tortured, killed, raped… eradicated. The population of muggle-borns in wizarding Britain has been decimated. She fears for her family but doesn't know how to tell them. They are already so hard pressed to even discuss her school, already nervous around witches and wizards, she knows this is something they'll not be able to comprehend.

She watches as her younger self, not quite a woman, returns home and casts Obliviate. It might not be an Unforgivable as such, but she's relatively sure her parents won't agree with that assessment.

Even as she casts it, her haunted eyes reflect her truth. "I knew I'd never get them back. I learned to _make_ the impossible choices, but not how to accept them."

There is the time during the war. On the run with her two closest friends but watching their friendship break under the strain. She is constantly filthy, hungry, and frightened. Her friends are at each other's throats, at hers, and she back at them in return. A world, her life, rests on the shoulders of children: Hermione and her friends. A piece of her learns what it is to be hopeless.

She learns what fear really means at Bellatrix's hands. The boy with the green tie is there, watching her and she feels impossibly betrayed. She has no reason to expect anything different. His disdain has been palpable for years. But somehow, this school boy is the crux of her realization about the nature of this war. If she was ever unsure of the weight of it, that there are people who would rejoice in her death, those doubts are washed away into his cold grey eyes, no longer staring at her in class or narrowed at her superior marks. He is on the other side of a battle line and somehow that nearly breaks her. He is a boy. A child. Like her. Yet he hates as a man. And she fears as a woman.

There is unbearable, unbelievable pain at the end of a dark wand and she is sure she will die. She almost doesn't know how to be grateful when she doesn't.

But then Fred is dead. And Remus, and Tonks and then she knows guilt on top of the rest. Guilt that she is alive and undeserving because she couldn't even be grateful. This Hermione is battle worn when she joins the rest. The scar on her arm reminds her every day of why she has been here, in this war. Not for higher ideals or moral obligation. Hermione Granger _had_ to fight. It's a matter of survival.

Guilt is her most vivid self of them all. Guilt wraps her arms around herself and stares into the black abyss, beyond the eldest Hermione with Draco Malfoy draped around her. Guilt sweeps the scene away, waving her arm in a dramatic arc, and then they are watching a haggard and tired Hermione weeping while her parents scowl at her.

"How could you do this to us?" Her mother is angry and afraid. Terrified of her own daughter.

Hermione's Father holds his wife and shakes his head, disgusted and confused. "You can't do things like that to people and just explain it away. Justify it like you had any right. You. Had. No. Right!"

Tears course down her face and she struggles out, "I wanted you to be safe. I'm so sorry I just wanted you to be safe."

They've been going around like this for what feels like hours. She has screamed and cried and begged and bargained but they remain stern and unmoved. They are angry for the intrusion and she can't help but understand why.

But mostly, it is that abject terror that makes Hermione feel as though her heart is being crushed.

Then her Father destroys her. "We were happy here. We didn't have to be afraid or worried or try to be patient and understand all the strange things you do now. How strange you behave."

In the end, she tells them she loves them.

And then she says "Obliviate" once again and walks away. In her wake a couple is mildly confused but satisfied and she feels one last emotion that she has never really felt in her short life.

The different ages of Hermione move to each side. Despair, Bitterness, Melancholy, Loneliness, Hopelessness, the formidable Guilt and so many others. Advancing on Hermione and Draco, a girl with angry eyes snarls her lip and wipes a tear from her eye roughly with the back of her hand. "I learned to want what I had given away to them. I learned Envy."

The Australian street gives way to Hermione's familiar flat, very similar to the way it is now. It is of little surprise that changes to décor have been unimportant to this current Hermione with the manufactured satisfaction.

But she's not quite there yet. She is sitting in the middle of her sofa, legs crossed, a glass of red wine on the table and Crookshanks curled up at the end of the couch. She holds a book in her lap and remembers when she had found it. Buried in the deep recesses of the Hogwarts library, it seemed to be forgotten even by the standards of the Restricted Section. She had poured over its abstract theories and lost spells for years after "rescuing" the tome from its dusty oblivion on the floor, shoved underneath the farthest back shelf. Then she is in the same room but it's a new day. Her clothes are different but the bags beneath her eyes are black from exhaustion. Harry and Ron sit in the chairs across from her.

"It was written by a Black. Like Bella- like Narcissa Malfoy. Plus the Malfoy's are renowned for keeping the old traditions. Just…just talk to Lucius. I've been over the spell. It's much less harmful than obliviate. It's smart, like… like a computer!"

Harry nods in her memories and Ron only stares.

"It learns and evolves once it's cast. You don't really lose anything you just don't dwell on the bad things. Please, Harry. I can't-" She stops and looks away, tears forming in her eyes.

"You don't need this, 'Mione. We can help you. We love you. _I_ love you," Ron pleads.

She shakes her head. "I love you. I love you both but it's just not enough."

Ron flinches as though she struck him but she doesn't seem to notice.

This Hermione rises from the couch and approaches the rest in the near darkness. "I am the last. Everything that came after was hollow and artificial by comparison. We weren't always the best side of you but we are Hermione Granger. I was selfish. We were selfish."

The light of the room grows, drowning out the darkness until the figures of herself are swallowed by the white that invades. She cannot feel Draco around her any longer and then she is sitting again in a room filled with bright sunshine, a hand lovingly on her arm and Narcissa breathing heavy watching for her movement.

And having felt only nice things for so many years, she is overwhelmed.

Hermione screams a pitch that could nearly shatter the room before her head hits the floor.

 **A/N - So I added a quick reference finally to the story from which I derived the title for anyone that didn't recognize it. It's a great little short story by Kurt Vonnegut, often covered in high school literature classes. Also just wanted to mention I took some liberties here with Hermione's home life for dramatic effect and plot purposes. Lastly, I was wretched today about answering reviews so I apologize but shaymars, hoshiakari, HarryPGinny, Chester, and marzipan I appreciated all of your thoughts and hope you have enjoyed this chapter! This was a big one and I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts.**


	20. Chapter 20

Hermione wakes to see grey eyes staring at her, narrowed with concern. She has been draped back into the chair and Draco supports some of her weight so she doesn't sink back all the way. As soon as she has woken and sits independently, he moves away to give her space. Another set of very similar orbs sit in her peripheral but with much less worry evident.

Narcissa holds a glass of cold water, slick with condensation, on her lap. There is a dark ring on the material of her skirt and Hermione briefly thinks to warn the witch of the difficulty her elves will have in removing water spots from silk.

"Hermione? Love, are you alright?" Her eyes dart back to Malfoy-

Draco.

"Oh Gods..."

Hermione shakes her head and the soft curls fall around her face, hiding her as she looks down at her hands. She concentrates more than she should have to on even and controlled breathing.

Lonely

Bitter

Envy

Guilt

Guilt

Guilt

She doesn't lift her head when Narcissa takes her leave. "I'll let you two have a moment. Draco, be gentle. Everything she's been repressing is fresh. The stages of grief will have to begin anew."

When she looks up, Draco is eyeing her warily.

"Do you want me to stay? Or do you need a moment?"

"I-" she starts and then falters. "I don't know honestly."

"Are you..." he swallows and steels his expression, "are you angry with me? For this?"

She looks up then, studies his face. "I think I'm a little angry with you in general. Not even really for this. But, Merlin, I love you. I'm uh... I'm confused. I don't know how to reconcile the last few months with everything else."

She watches him nod gravely. "Do you remember the first time we met again? In that quaint little muggle bar?"

"Of course. My memory was always there, Malfoy. I had that date with Dave from accounting."

He snorts a little derisively, "Is that what he did. Sounds right."

Her secondary instinct is to smirk and chide him playfully but then there is this other instinct, this angry little girl who has just rediscovered her voice. "There is nothing wrong with accounting, Malfoy. It's a respectable job and some of us have to actually work for a living." She flinches almost as hard as he does.

"Sorry. Old habits."

She expects him to be angry. They always baited each other so quickly in school. Instead he looks so sad it breaks her heart and she starts to reach for his hand.

Then she sees the mark and swoons a little, covering her mouth with her hand and closing her eyes. There's just _so much_.

"Gods, Draco, my parents." She weeps for a long time, Draco's hand on her shoulder.

XXXXXX

"Pipsy."

The elf pops into the room. "Yes, Young Master?"

"Would you prepare a light lunch in the gardens for myself and Miss Granger, please?"

"I thought I got to pick lunch." She has mumbled it into her hands that hide her face.

Draco smiles. "What would you like then, Hermione? The kitchen can make you anything or I'll take you out. I just want to make you happy."

She looks up at him like she's not sure she's ever seen him before. After a pause. "Sushi then, like our first date."

He nods and looks to the elf. "As my lady says, please."

With a snap the elf is gone and they two are left staring at each other.

"I'm sorry if I intruded. I- I didn't know I would end up watching with you when I touched you."

Her eyes widen. "I wasn't sure you were really there. So you saw…"

"Everything. Too many bits with me for my taste. All the things I wanted to make up to you and you've not let me."

She frowns a little and looks away. "I might let you now after all."

The relief is like a bird soaring through the room. "You will? Do you you'd stay with me?"

"You won't want me to. I can be a right bitch. Ask anyone. And a know-it-all and boring and now broken and- Fuck, Draco my arm!" She screeches the last and tears at her arm with her other hand. "It's still there! That bitch Bellatrix- I can _feel_ it!"

Draco attempts to lay calming hands on her shoulders but she bucks them off and stands, pacing the room, rubbing her arm as if she might erase the word. He follows her and holds her in place while she struggles against him, cursing his family. On that they agree.

She finally calms and sobs against him. He speaks softly into her hair.

"I can't fix all of it. I can't make the war go away for you. You'll have to have the nightmares like I did." He thinks he might have sounded a bit stern and tries to soften the sentiment. "All I can do is hold you while we sleep."

She looks up at him and he strokes her cheek. "But so much of it, Hermione, you took too much on yourself. You didn't learn hate and bitterness so much as I _gave_ them to you. Your friends took advantage. Your parents didn't support you like they should."

"That doesn't excuse-"

"Your mistakes? Maybe. Maybe not. My job isn't to judge you. My job is to tell you that some little blond prat didn't have the right to hurt you. To let you know that you looked to the wrong bloke at the Yule Ball. Had you turned to your left you'd have seen that same blond prat you hated entranced by you. I very much still am by the way." He smiles and she tries to return it but her lip quivers and she gives it up.

"Your Mother says I'm not strong enough to be with you."

He frowns. "My Mother doesn't get to decide. And besides," he waves the thought away flippantly, "she's wrong."

Hermione finally finds a small smile. "She does that, you know. That thing with her hand when she ignores something she doesn't think is important."

Draco chuckles. "I know. I've tried to break the habit but really it does convey so much. In this instance, it tells you how daft I think you are for thinking you aren't strong. Not many people went through what you did-"

"You did. I mean, you probably had it worse than me really."

He shrugs. "Maybe. It's hard to say. I was afraid a lot but I wasn't starving to death in a tent. And my friends were too afraid of me to abandon me. But for argument, let's say I did have it as bad as you. I struggled with it for years. I drowned my nightmares in liquor and muggle women." He pauses and has the decency to try to look sheepish. "Sorry, probably not what your girlfriend wants to hear."

"I asked my mortal enemy to cast a complicated Dark curse on me I read in a library book. I'm not judging your whoring around. Probably a healthier therapy really."

"Do you want to know when my nightmares stopped? Really stopped I mean not just because I blacked out on scotch."

She nods and waits as he hesitates.

"You. I mean, I've had the occasional bad dream like a normal bloke but not the Night Terrors I was living with before. If you, Hermione Granger, golden-girl and all around angelic creature can love me then I figure, I can't be that bad right?" He grins at her and tears prick the corners of her eyes.

"Do you remember when we met on the train first year?"

Draco nods his affirmation but has trouble holding her gaze. "I was really pissed you know, when I found out you were muggle born. Because then I had to hate you and I really didn't want to. You had pretty eyes and great taste in literature and you knew words like 'tandem'."

Hermione looks at him in question and he just shakes his head, bemused. "If you watched all of the same scenes in my head that we shared, the little Dracos would stomp away and tell you things like "I learned how to hate myself" and "Lying was easier than being brave"."

She giggles and he's so encouraged he leans in and kisses her just to feel her stiffen. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you just seemed…"

Shaking her head she moves just a little away. "It's fine I'm just- there's a lot in my head. And not just you and school. Honestly those moments seemed really important when I was fourteen but now I'm just- Fuck, Draco." The tears start to come down again and she wipes them angrily. "Do you know how long it's been since I thought of Fred? Or Remus? Or even Snape? How selfish am I? I can't even grieve properly. Too hard to think about someone so just shut it off and go on living…"

The sarcasm in her voice is laced with sadness.

She looks down. "I should probably tell Harry and Ginny that I'm…that this happened."

He nods. "They've been worried about you. Though really, and believe me when I say how hard this is for me to admit, you should probably speak to Weasel."

Her eyes narrow. "Ron you mean."

Draco smiles. "Ronald Weasley, yes. You should let him know, maybe try to mend bridges or what have you."

Hermione cocks her head. "I should probably. I miss him. We were great friends. Miserable lovers but great friends. By why would you of all people encourage it?"

He shrugs. "He brought me the book. I never would have figured out what was wrong with you. I thought someone had done something to you but I couldn't imagine who."

"Where on earth did he find it?"

" _I_ found it." Narcissa is drifting back into the room and smiles at her son, his arm draped over the witch. "Really, Dear, you didn't think I wouldn't be able to? I'm of the most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Plus, it was in my library." Both lovers blink in surprise when she winks.

Narcissa sits across from the pair and focuses on Hermione. "I hope you realize you are indebted to my son. You would never have found any true contentment. Not being unhappy and being happy are very different things."

Hermione begins to speak, incensed by the implication that she owes Draco anything but Narcissa holds up her hand and continues.

"Malfoy men are notoriously stubborn and tenacious. He'll not let you go without a fight." Her eyes soften and she cocks her head to the side. "They are also loyal and capable of great love. You won't believe this, but even my Lucius has an amazing capacity for love. Or did before he nearly let that fucking snake destroy us all."

"Mother!" Draco is hard pressed to remember his Mother cursing. Even during the war.

In her signature gesture, she waves his concern away. "You need to find your strength now, as I had to find mine and my son has found his. Also your friend Potter and that gaggle of Weasleys. You can come back from the loss. No easy ways out this time."

Draco stands, assuming Hermione might want to escape his Mother's somewhat condescending tone and offers his hand. "Let's go to the gardens. The elves will bring lunch."

Hermione hesitates a moment, eyes locked on the Dark Mark. He nearly drops his arm when she finally accepts it. Accepts him. With a _nearly_ sunny smile.

Partly cloudy maybe. Chance of rain. But not altogether grey.

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy." She replies a little stiffly. "I'll remember what you said."

"Narcissa, Darling. You may call me Narcissa." As they walk away, his Mother speaks to his lover quietly. "No Mother should make her child feel that way, Hermione. For as long as my son wishes to be in your life, I will endeavor to earn a place with you as well." Draco isn't sure if he is more surprised by his Mother's words, or his witch being too stunned to speak.

In the gardens, Draco leads Hermione to sit at a table with a large arrangement of yellow daffodils, Narcissus, in the center and he smiles.


	21. Chapter 21

Generally, Draco would say his lover is "reserved" for the remainder of the day. Occasionally old memories overtake her and she struggles with the tears that come. Other times she seems entranced, no doubt living old moments and considering the people lost from her life. He speaks when he thinks is appropriate and holds his peace when the far-off look takes her away.

In the evening, he feels unsure how to proceed. "Do you want to stay with me tonight? Or would you prefer some time alone?"

"Jesus, Draco I obviously don't know what I need," she snaps, Potter's muggle swearing habit seeping through. "Sorry. I...I really don't know. Can you imagine this?" She's exasperated. "I'm still _me_. I still remember waking up this morning and being with you. I love you, Draco. Really. Maybe more in a way. It's like there was this filter keeping my emotions in check. You've been... wonderful." She flops down on her sofa and gestures for him to sit: In the chair across from her rather than beside her, much to his disappointment.

"You know if I'd run into you in that pub without the curse I probably wouldn't have even spoken. I would've ignored you and pretended to be really into poor Dave so you wouldn't approach. Doesn't that bother you about all this? It bothers me."

He starts to speak but the question was rhetorical and she waxes on.

"Should I be grateful maybe? The curse allowed me to be open. My career soared. I've never been bogged down by stress or pressure and I'm quite good at it. My relationships have all ended with friendly conversation. No screaming matches. Of course looking back they probably left because they were frustrated. Like you were."

He opens his mouth once more but she's not finished, working herself up into quite a lather. "I'd never have dated you if I'd remembered everything. I would have taken one look at your blond hair and that sneer that always sits on your face and turned away. So should I be really happy with curse then? Did I do myself some grand favor?!" She's nearly screaming now.

"Or maybe this is just some huge mistake then right? What if we shouldn't even be together?! If I wouldn't have talked to you and you _certainly_ wouldn't have deigned to speak to _someone like me_ ," she spits the bitter words. "You probably don't even really-" she cuts herself off and her lip shakes. "You won't even like me. How can you love me? You don't even know who I am."

The tears were difficult but he could handle them. The screaming he could wait out. But this vulnerable voice breaks him down and Draco rises to take a seat next to his witch, pulling her, whether she wants it or not, into a comforting embrace.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I knew this would be hard but…" He strokes her hair a moment and then pulls back, looking down at her face. "I don't want to make you do anything but I'd rather prefer if you'd stay with me tonight. I'll sleep on the sofa if you want I just don't want to worry about you being alone."

She nods. "I think I agree. You don't even have to take the sofa," she laughs softly. "But I think I want to ask you to do something with me tomorrow. Will you owl Harry? Tell him I want to speak with him and Ginny and Ron? And...would you come with me?"

"Whatever you need. And that, by the way, is just one example of how you'll know I love you. I'll spend a day with the Potters _and_ the Weasel." He winks and this time she's not so offended by his nickname for Ron. Progress perhaps. He hopes so.

"For the record, I know exactly who are you are, Hermione Granger. Bushy-haired, know-it-all, swotty, infuriating… gorgeous, brilliant, fierce lioness. I look forward to you getting riled up when I'm a prat. I've sort of missed it." He kisses the grin on her face.

XXXXX

In the night, she dreams of Fred and running and Voldemort's snake-like face and her Mother's cold, angry eyes.

XXXXX

When Hermione wakes the following day, her back is pressed up against Draco's, their feet intertwined. She runs her toes up his calf as she does many mornings like this and then stops, the previous day flooding back. It's killing her in subtle ways and she knows it's not easy on him either. She makes a decision to put some effort into her comfort level with him and rolls over to bury her nose into his back between his shoulder blades, wrapping her arm over him, gripping his shoulder lightly.

She hears him sigh and his hand reaches up to take hers. "How did you sleep?" This is not a simple pleasantry she knows; his concern is evident.

"As expected. At least I managed a few hours. I'm grateful for that." He turns and faces her but keeps a hold of her hand between them. "What time are we going to see Harry?"

He grimaces a little. "Ten. I thought we best get on with it early. Maybe that will leave some time in the afternoon for more private past-times," he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and she can't help but giggle.

"You'll have to behave all day you know. No hexing anyone."

Draco rolls his eyes. "I won't hex anyone. You know, even I have to give credit, all of your git friends wanted this broken as much as I did. Their not _completely_ worthless."

She looks regretful and sighs at herself. "They didn't really want me to do this in the first place. To be fair, that's partly because they didn't understand everything I was dealing with. I love them dearly, even Ron-," Draco flinches.

"Not like that. Really. Not like that, Draco. It's why we didn't work. Even the curse couldn't make me look past it. It made me try, sure. For months. Years, maybe. I knew something wasn't right but the curse made me think 'it's not so bad' or 'wait it out a little'. But when _he_ forced the issue, I knew he was right. Then the curse just took over and made it easy to let him go."

He's been listening intently and nods as she finishes.

"Anyway my point was, that I love them, in completely unthreatening ways," she reminds quickly, "but they were not always the best at being supportive. I was definitely strong for them when they needed me to be. What other thirteen year old girl was going to potentially take on a basilisk? But they tended to get very comfortable with my being strong. They forgot that sometimes I was still a girl- no that's sexist, scratch that - that I was a person. A child for much of it. I just wanted a hug sometimes." She gives a silly grin and Draco seems to take that as his cue. His arms are around her before she could even think to protest if she wanted to.

Which she doesn't.

Finally, she pushes away but only enough so she can speak. "We should start our day. I'd like to have a little breakfast before we see the boys."

"Waffles?" He smiles that boyish smile that simultaneously helps her forget the sneer, yet also brings back those memories on the train that always end with it reappearing on his face. _Filthy Mudblood._

Her smile is sad but if he notices he doesn't say. "Sure. Waffles sound great."

XXXXX

Draco pauses as they approach the door and Hermione looks back in question. "Just steeling myself, love." He inhales a dramatic breath like he is about to face a Norwegian Ridgeback.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "You know, you got on just fine when we had dinner a few weeks ago."

"Yes but a few weeks ago you had this charm that forced me to make you happy. Now I'm doing it all on my own. Can't you appreciate the sacrifice?" He whines with a charming pout to his lips, winning a smile from his witch.

"I can appreciate it. _After_ you've actually done it." She turns and takes the last few steps, knocking before he can so much as follow.

"You're cold, Granger. Oh how I suffer."

His arm is around her waist when the door opens and even offensive ginger hair doesn't take the smile from his lips.

"Hermione!" Ginny gasps and her eyes tennis-match bounce between the two. "Are you and Malfoy?..."

"He couldn't stay away." Draco is stunned by how natural she seems. How much like herself… herself? Is that even correct? Regardless she's not screaming, cursing, or crying so that seems encouraging.

Ginny moves to the side and gestures into the cottage. "Come in then. Would you like a drink? I know you do, Malfoy." She grins and points to a bottle on the top of their small entertaining bar. "It's your fault you know. Harry only wants muggle scotch now. And the expensive stuff."

He snorts, "I should've brought a bottle. Next time." The promise of a repeat visit is not lost on the two ladies and Draco smirks at Hermione's expression gazing up at him. "You'll catch flies, Granger, don't look so shocked. Like you won't make me come back."

"I-" her expression clears a little and she agrees with a keenly satisfied expression. "You're absolutely right. I will most certainly make you come back."

Ginny has moved away from the pair and is placing glasses on the bar top. "Harry just went to the burrow to fetch Ron. Hermione, drink?"

"I'm alright, thanks, Ginny. How much longer before we can toast your return to drinking?"

Ginny recaps the liquor and moves to hand the glass to Draco. "Thirty two days if the healers are to be believed. Surely he could come out early though. I've been trying to tell him January is a much better month to be born. Garnet birthstone, good Gryffindor color. Pansy-ass purple next month." She looks down and speaks to the child directly. "I strongly encourage you stop messing around and get on with it. My bladder thanks you in advance, even though my nether-regions might disagree after the fact."

The floo interrupts what Draco thinks is the most uncomfortable he has ever been.

To punctuate that, he'd like to remind you he once had a sociopath living in his dining room.

"Oy, Ginny, she here?" Ron's voice tears through the room in that abrasive way he has but both he and Harry stop when they see the couple looking at them.

"Ron?" Hermione's eyes are wet and Draco places a reassuring hand on the small of her back. He's only a little hurt when she steps away from him, toward her ex, before schooling the emotion on his face. Then she is flinging herself around the Weasel's neck and sobbing and Draco has to look away, taking a deep drink of his scotch.

Thank Merlin for the She-Weasel and her liquor cabinet etiquette.

Harry is the first to speak. "Hermione are you-" He stops and looks to Draco instead. "Did you do it?"

Draco nods, eyes falling back on his lover as she embraces another man who is clinging back to her in kind. "It's done. Merlin, Potter, you lot are _miserable_ friends."

"Bugger off, Malfoy, you try telling her not to do something," Harry mumbles back.

In spite of everything, Draco grins at that a little. It's a fair point.

Hermione meanwhile is extracting herself from the arms of her former lover and then gives Harry a rivaling hug. Somehow this makes Draco feel a bit more secure. It makes the hug seem more innocent if it is shared with _two_ men, one being married to the pregnant woman in the room.

Ginny suggests everyone sit, mostly she says because her ankles are the size of Hagrid's thighs and she has this extra twenty pounds of baby and afterbirth throwing her off balance. Draco blanches a bit and follows the Golden Trio plus One. Harry and Ginny take the same love seat and Ron the fireside chair that they had occupied the last time Draco came to call. That leaves the sofa for himself and Hermione and he doesn't hesitate to place himself possessively close and take her hand in his.

"My Mother broke the curse and, really I guess she gets credit for lifting that annoying Compulsion Charm too." Three sets of eyes look at Hermione and wait for confirmation.

"It's true. I'm… uh. Well that's an odd thing," she muses and shakes her head almost unperceptively, "what to say?... I'm back to normal?" She shrugs.

"Are you…" Harry hedges, "are you alright? You're not mad at us are you? For helping."

Draco snorts for the second time in so many minutes. "Loads of help that you were."

"Hey!" Ron shoots Draco a deathly glare.

"Alright, I'll concede, Weasel helped. A little. You were pretty worthless, Potter."

"I was under a vow for God's sake, Malfoy!"

"So was he," he gestures back and Ron but can't help but wonder at himself why he's defending the ginger. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. It's done." He waves his hand in that Narcissa way and stops quickly when he realizes it. He _really_ needs to watch that.

"I just wanted you to know that I'm…back to how I was." Hermione speaks quietly to the room. "I'm sorry if I made you all worry-"

"Nope, no way. Stop _right there_ , Granger." Draco cuts her off with an assured and mildly frustrated voice. "Don't you _dare_ apologize." He looks at the other three. "And don't you dare let her. Stop letting her take the responsibility for everything. That's how she ended up here."

"That's not fair. We didn't _ask_ for her to apologize. Don't pin this on us-"

"No, he's right, Harry." No one is more shocked than Draco when Ron speaks again, in his defense no less. "'Mione, you're sorry more'n you should be. We're fine. You don't need to feel bad about any of this, ok?"

Ginny pipes up quickly. "Honey, we love you. We're just glad you're ok. Are you though? I mean are you ok?"

Hermione who has been ignoring the deeper thoughts in her head for a refreshing long span, a good hour Draco would guess, suddenly feels that weight crashing down and her eyes are wet glass. "I'm struggling a little. I think I'm sort of out of practice. You know with… feeling things. Really deeply feeling. And then I think of all… there are so many things…" Draco places a reassuring arm around her shoulders and she leans into him. He places a soft kiss on the top of her head and rubs her arm gently.

As her breathing levels off and the silence is crushing the room, Ron breaks it with all the subtlety of a Manticore in a potions shop. "Well this is weird, innit? I mean 'Mione and Malfoy right?" He looks around to each friend with a silly grin, searching for confirmation of agreement. The entire room stares a hole collectively into his brain but he is nonplussed. Hermione, surprisingly, chuckles in response.

"I've missed you, you know, Ron. Can we… are we going to be friends again? Someday?" The mirth in her voice slowly seeps away into sadness by the end.

"Of course we can. We _are_! I just… look, Hermione I'm married now. It wasn't because I couldn't get over you or some rubbish that I stayed away. I just didn't know if it would mess you up. You were trying to take care of yourself. Cast a bloody dark spell and all. What if me being around screwed it up for you?"

"Like I did," Draco offers. He says it with no malice, no accusation, and no self-loathing. It's just a fact. Weasley was probably right. It's likely his presence would have been a strain on her curse. Not to mention that compulsion charm could have confused their relationship. They might have suffered a torturous "on again off again" break-up as a result.

The conversation lightens slowly and even Draco offers a soft laugh on occasion. Not a guffaw or really anything with volume. More just letting air out of his nostrils with a little more force than usual. But considering the situation, he thinks he's being an absolute peach.

When the conversation winds down and the visit reaches its end, they thank the Potter's for their hospitality and bid farewell to Ron. Draco manages to shake his hand without a sneer. He thinks he deserves a cookie for that.

The couple returns to Draco's flat to find his own owl with a message around his leg.

"Cronus? Is that for me?"

The owl lifts his leg higher and gives Draco a look that says "why else am I here holding my leg out with a bloody piece of paper tied to it? Git." Or something similar.

 _My Darling Son_

 _I have news that I would very much like to share with you if you might come to the manor this afternoon. Please bring Miss Granger as this is a family matter and I assume if I did not invite her you would argue her future place within said category. Don't argue with me, Draco, I know you would have been thinking it. I'll expect you at 4:00pm sharp unless you have a very good reason that you cannot attend. Bring some of that muggle Champagne you know I like. We shall have a toast._

 _Much Love_

"Your Mother likes muggle liquor too? My, what would the Dark Lord think of the Malfoys now?" She means it in jest and he appreciates the effort it must have taken, but Draco has trouble returning her light banter.

 _We shall have a toast._

His stomach turns knowing very little that would incite that from his Mother.

Salazar help him.


	22. Chapter 22

"I was sure it would be Dom she sent you after."

"My Mother swears that Perrier Jouet is the best and I don't argue. Honestly I think she just likes the pretty bottle," he says as an aside.

Hermione eyes the dark green bottle, embellished with lovely white flowers circling the script. "We had this. On the beach."

Draco grins at her, "We did. I'm glad I made at least _some_ impression that night."

"Oh please. I'm not going to fall for such an obvious ploy to stroke your ego." She smirks and rolls her eyes before she walks away, pretending to study the various flavors of vodka available but watches him out of the corner of her eye. She remembers every minute of that date, including his panicked departure at the end. Recalling the last few months in detail always leaves her a little fascinated, a little sad, a little frustrated. That night when he had run from her she knows it is because he touched her scar and was reminded of their history, suddenly not believing her easy forgiveness (with good reason, in truth). Their dinner with Harry and Ginny, she remembers seeing his mark and the inner turmoil that followed, his eyes then looking at her with abject hurt when she flinched away. All the times her mind tried to bring up their past, she was tormenting him with her odd behavior, only to brush it off and look at him like he was the one reacting strangely.

She feels that familiar prick of tears and blinks them away.

What a strange situation to find herself in really. Golden Girl Hermione Granger desperately in love with the bully of a Slytherin Prince and weeping because _she_ hurt _him_.

Hermione picks up a bottle of Belvedere and some dry Vermouth and walks back to Draco, presenting them to him with a smile. "I'm going to teach you how to make a Martini."

"I thought you needed Gin for that."

"Not the way I like them. Don't argue, you'll thank me. We need olives."

"How is it we've not had this argument in the past few months?"

"What argument is that," she asks hesitantly.

"Gin versus Vodka of course." He snags a bottle of Hendricks as they walk by. "Me and you, Granger. We've having a Martini-off. Winner gets to sleep with the loser."

Her smile is slow as it forms but broad when finished. "You're on."

XXXXX

Draco arrives by floo first; Hermione close behind. It is 3:59pm and his Mother is standing not 5 feet in front of him tapping her foot. "You were almost late, young man."

"How are 'almost late' and 'not late at all' any different, Mother? I'm exactly when I intended to be." He holds up the bottle and watches her scowl vanish into a smile.

"Oh, Darling, that's perfect. '90?"

He shrugs as he hears Hermione enter behind him, "the Muggle said it's a good year."

"It should be for the price." Hermione has walked up behind him. "Mrs. Malfoy," she nods in acknowledgement.

"It's Narcissa, dear. I insist." His Mother snaps and an elf appears with 3 crystal glasses precariously held in its spindly hands. "Pippy, could you serve us please."

"Yes, Mistress, Pippy is pleased to help." The little creature levitates the glasses onto a low table and accepts the bottle from her Lady.

"Now that you're both here, I have such wonderful news. Let's sit then, if you will join me?" She gestures to the sitting area and elegantly takes a velvet chair facing a small sofa. Draco leads Hermione to sit opposite and then drops down beside her. They hear the 'pop' of the cork followed by the fizzing of the Champagne hitting crystal. Pippy hands a glass first to Narcissa, watching as she tastes.

"It's perfect, Draco." She nods to Pippy for her to serve her son and his guest.

Once all three have their glasses, Narcissa raises hers. "To us, the Malfoy family, and our future." Draco looks at her in question but lifts his own glass to his lips and take an appreciative drink. It really is good Champagne.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Malfoy-" his Mother gives her a stern look, "-Narcissa. Sorry. What is your news?"

Narcissa sets her glass down on the table between them and clasps her hands together. She is every bit as composed as her station always demands, but Draco can see a glint in her eye and when she speaks it is very nearly bubbly for the proper witch. "My Dear Lucius is coming home. His sentence has been reduced and he only has six months left to serve."

Draco nearly drops his glass. He had guessed it could be something to do with his Father but six months and the man would be home? "How," is all he can think to ask.

Narcissa does her wave. "Oh you know how it is with politics and bureaucrats. You 'grease enough palms' as it were, do some favors. Your Father was instrumental in helping bring in some of the remaining Death Eaters."

"So he turned against his own then," Draco grumbles into his glass.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy he is your _Father_. I know you have been estranged but I'd hoped you could set that aside. I'm ready to have my family back."

Draco thinks Hermione's voice is a little shaky when she says, "Congratulations, Miss-Narcissa. I'm sure it has been difficult having your husband… away for so long."

"Thank you, dear. It has been quite trying." She smiles and takes a thoughtful drink. "Draco you may wish to speak with your Father before his release. Clear the air and all that."

"You mean warn him about my muggle-born girlfriend," he grits out. "He is already aware."

She gives him yet another stern look. "Let's visit him together then perhaps. Just to straighten things out a bit before you're glaring at each other over dinner. For your Mother, my dove."

Gods she's manipulative. Draco rolls his eyes but agrees nonetheless. "I'll arrange it when I have time."

"Excellent. Now, will you both join me for dinner this evening? I've some gardening to attend to first. I'd very much like to get to know you, Miss Granger, under pleasant circumstances."

To this request, they both agree, enjoying a stroll in the gardens while his Mother tends her roses with expert care. Draco is contemplative, looking over at his witch. If his Father thinks he will have any sway over his life, he is sorely mistaken. He plans to spend the next few months making sure Hermione is keenly aware that her place is with him, this development making it all too clear he is unwilling to give her up for anyone. And he tells her so.

XXXXX

Little James Potter does not make his Mother's January deadline. Going not only full term, but over a week late, she is less than amused to have another stubborn and tardy Potter man messing up her micro-managed schedules. She was about 30 seconds from asking for a magical induction when finally he deigned to make an appearance.

Hermione asks Draco to accompany her in choosing a gift. He agrees if he could choose one article of clothing for the child. Hermione warns him that trying to put the boy in a frilly dress will make their agreement null and void but he has no intention of being that obvious. He grins from ear to ear when Ginny looks at him in question, holding up the gender neutral all purple onesie with the bubbly lavender script "I'm proof my Mummy puts out".

"Purple, to compliment his birthstone." Ginny makes a face but can't help a small smile, batting at Draco with the offensive cloth.

"He is _not_ wearing that to the burrow. My Mother is frightening and you'd thank me to not sic her on you."

XXXXX

Draco and Hermione slowly make their way back to the relationship they had enjoyed, though not quite the same. They bicker more, but Draco doesn't mind that. He likes his fiery lover.

It took more than a few days after the curse was broken before his witch was comfortable enough to be intimate again. Their first night was different from their recreational shagging of the past. They lock eyes, not speaking, Draco drowning in her molten chocolate, Hermione soaring into his cloudy grey skies. He thrusts into her slowly, never looking away and watches her lip quiver from the intensity. When they fall apart, he kisses her hard, tears pricking his own eyes in relief. Their love-making, while it was always passionate, has reached a level of connection he hadn't realized could exist. Feeling her heartbeat pounding in rhythm with his own, he breathes, "I love you" into her ear and shudders when she whispers it back.

By May, she has given up the Dreamless Sleep draughts. The nightmares have waned. She still has long bouts of melancholy.

In June, Draco takes her to visit the grave of Fred Weasley. "George has been here," she says, pointing to the open 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' packet on the ground. The tombstone has been turned blue, roughly the color of a Smurf, so says Hermione. It feels much more appropriate for the jokester twin than something expected like flowers. She laughs softly at the sight before approaching, quiet tears starting to form. When she closes the distance she lays her hand on the top of the monument, the tears falling onto the stone. Smurf blue becomes deep cobalt under the tiny drops. Draco watches for a moment, then slides an arm around her waist and stands there quietly for as long as she needs.

As the first of July approaches, Draco is more than aware he has been avoiding the topic of his Father, having been devoting his time to helping Hermione heal.

Her last hurdle, the tragedy that set her over the edge years ago that she has yet to discuss openly with him, remains with her parents.

It seems parental issues are just another thing they share in common.

"I'm going to see him today." Draco is stirring a cup of coffee in his flat. Hermione has all but officially moved in. She still keeps her own place, but even Crookshanks is in attendance most evenings, much to Draco's distaste. Currently, the creature is sitting on his counter top trying to goad him into a staring contest, tail flicking hard in agitation. Not looking up from his coffee, Draco has decided he can be the bigger man and won't allow himself to be drawn in again by the wretched feline.

Not again at least.

"Who? Oh!-" Her eyes widen a little and she knows. "You mean Lucius? Do you… do you want me to come?"

He smirks at her. "Sorry, love, boys club today. I told Mother to stay home as well. I think I need to have a private conversation without her nagging and chastising us. And I certainly don't need the old letch making eyes at my witch."

"I think we both know 'making eyes' will be the last thing from his mind in regards to me." She grimaces and looks away. Draco is trying to make light but Hermione does not seem in the mood to gobble up his bait. Can't blame her really.

"You could go see my Mother. She'd love to have you. She's just hosting that book club today-"

"Today!? Oh, Draco why didn't you remind me? I've not finished my chapter!"

Draco smirks and watches her flee the room, calling after her, "Or is it tomorrow! I can never remember…"

She comes back only to throw the hand towel she had been carrying at his face, but he sees the smile play her lips anyway.

XXXXX

"Father." Draco is already seated when his Father is lead into the room. He still appears a bit gaunt, a little sullen, but there is some color in his face and his hair seems clean, pulled back with a thin ribbon tie.

He sits and waits for his guard to leave the room and the door to close, watching the movement, before he speaks. "My son. I had hoped to see you sooner than this. You may well have waited a fortnight and we could have done this at the manor."

"Mother seemed to think it important we…what did she say?... 'clear the air'. I don't know that it will prove successful but you know she is not a woman to be questioned."

Lucius chuckles lightly. Draco doesn't think any sound from the man has ever disturbed him more just due to its utter wrongness from the stoic and oft cruel wizard. "No, my boy she is not. I learned that on your fourth birthday when I wanted to buy your first broom and she absolutely refused until you were six. The woman can wither you with a look." His look is a little far away as he finishes, "I've much missed her." Draco doesn't think the last was meant for him.

Squaring himself and looking coolly at his Father, "I need to make it clear to you that I am still involved with Hermione Granger."

Lucius just nods. "So your Mother says."

Draco can only gape. "She _told_ you? Why the fuck did I have to drag myself down here if she was just going to tell you first?!"

"Language, Draco. I've taught you better than to allow emotional outbursts."

He narrows his eyes. "You taught me a lot of things I'd sooner forget."

His Father leans back in his chair. "I suppose this is the part where you suspect I will forbid you to sully the family line and you tell me to go to some Muggle hell for nothing will keep you from your mudblood?"

"Muggle-born. Society has changed. Keep up, Lucius."

"You're making this more difficult than it need be, Draco. I'm more than aware you will not be swayed by anything I say not to mention, I've lost the official head of house status that might have allowed me any monetary power over you. I've _also_ been informed by my formidable and, I'm man enough to admit, downright frightening wife, that she enjoys the girl and I'm to treat her civilly."

Draco is pretty sure widening his eyes any farther would result in them leaving his sockets all together.

Before he can react, his Father continues. "I've been in this cell many years now. I can't say I'm not disappointed to see a pure blood line threatened. If I had any sway over you, I might not be quite as agreeable. Further, I can say I've priorities that supersede my concerns. Namely, being welcomed back to my wife's bed. And the Malfoy name will remain strong as long as the family is strong. Miss Granger, unfortunate heritage though she boasts, is strong."

Huh, so his eyes _could_ widen further but remain in his head. Noted.

"Are you aware I spoke with her?"

Draco shakes his head dumbly in response.

"You don't think she just sent Potter to do her dirty work for her do you? That little girl walked in here with her head so damned high it's a wonder I could see her eyes. She virtually demanded I help her with that curse. All I ever had difficulty understanding is how someone that resolute could allow the world to break them down enough to do something that drastic. Not Bella I'm sure. That slip of a girl took a curse like a seasoned Death Eater. Certainly not a few slurs from you. You weren't as intimidating as you wanted to think… plus she slapped you." He tries to offer a wry smile.

"Her parents," is his mumbled response. "I mean all of it, when taken into consideration together. But in the end, her parents broke her."

"The Muggles she sent to Australia? What, did she kill them trying to undo the Obliviate?" Even after his admission to respecting a muggleborn, he manages to give offense with his abjectly callous tone about Granger's only family. He's still a cold bastard, lest Draco allow himself to forget.

"No," he snaps back, "she didn't kill them. She found them and reversed it perfectly because she's a bloody brilliant witch. The problem was they hated her for it. Really, they hated her for everything she is. Called her strange and looked at her like she was a monster."

Something occurs to Draco in that moment. Even as he has claimed to no longer care about blood status, the depth of his transgressions is clearer than it's ever been.

"You know, she was treated like less than human by us for years because she was different. Then she went home to people who treated her the same way, but for all the opposite reasons." He looks up. "But she's just… Hermione."

Draco stands and just looks at him for a moment. Finally, after much consideration, he offers a hand to his Father. Lucius hesitantly accepts it and they shake slowly. "I'll see you in two weeks, Father. Expect Miss Granger at the manor for your welcome dinner. In fact, expect to see her often."

Lucius nods. "Indeed."


	23. Chapter 23

"I wasn't completely round the bend you know! I was just… sad."

Hermione is pacing the sitting room in Draco's flat, being watched by Crookshanks who has laid claim to the chair by the fireplace. Draco has been trying to calm her since he arrived home.

Narcissa, in her delightfully meddlesome way, had approached Hermione while Draco was visiting his Father. She had swept into Draco's sitting room via the floo network, shocking the pajama-clad witch, to ask if she might like to speak with someone at St. Mungo's. "They have this wonderful healer who helps victims of misfired spells to cope with the consequences," she had said. Hermione thanked her politely, ushered her out as kindly as possible, and waited for Draco to arrive so she could vent properly.

She rounds on him, ceasing her pacing and snarls, "I don't need a fucking shrink, Draco."

"What's a shrink?"

Hermione literally growls in frustration before taking a long suffering breath and sitting with a pretense of calm. "I'll not be pressured into something like that. I've been trying so hard to get on with it and, all in all, I think I'm doing a bloody good job."

"I agree. My Mother means well though."

"Yes, yes I know. Saint Narcissa."

Draco frowns. This would not be the first conversation in which he is accused of taking his Mother's side over his lover. But today, he can't be bothered to fight. Today, things are different.

"Hermione, my Father will be home in two weeks. Before that happens, I… I wanted to ask you something. But I don't know, maybe this isn't the best time…" He begins to second guess himself, not having expected to find her in such a fowl state. He rubs the back of his neck absently as she eyes him in question.

From his pocket, Draco extracts a small box. He doesn't say anything as he opens the lid, just looks at her through the fringe of his bangs, a breath choking him, stuck in his throat. "I don't really… I didn't really think about what I'd say."

She looks up at him with wide eyes and swallows.

He offers a sheepish smile and asks softly, "Would it be trite if I just said 'please marry me'?"

Hermione shakes her head in the negative, unblinking. He tries to translate the gesture. "No, it's not trite? Or no you won't…" He doesn't particularly want to finish his question.

"No… not trite. Draco…" And she kisses him. Her lips meet his hard and firm and he tastes the tears that have escaped her pretty eyes.

When they break apart, he leans his forehead against hers and smiles, eyes closed. "A 'yes" then, if I dare to venture." He feels her nod but then she pulls away.

"Are you sure? I mean, I'm still… I struggle a lot, Draco. Maybe we should wait awhile-"

"No, thank you. I've waited months. You're perfect, Hermione. We all struggle."

"Pfft, not like _I_ do and you know it." He allows a grin as she almost seems to be in good humour again. "I'm serious," she admonishes with a light slap to his chest, but her smile is still there.

Without permission, Draco pulls the ring from the box and takes her hand in his. "Once I put this on your hand, you'll not be rid of me. Last chance, Granger."

"I doubt I'd be rid of you either way," she laughs softly, "and that's just fine."

XXXXX

"I noticed the ring is gone." Narcissa is humming softly when Draco saunters into the room and clipping the branches of a well-loved Banzai tree.

Having the respect not to pretend ignorance, he nods and strolls closer. The ring he bestowed on his witch if a family heirloom that was long in Narcissa's care. She gave it to him years ago, assuming it would be awarded to one Ms. Parkinson or Ms. Greengrass. Though she had given it to him, she often checked to be sure it was still safely tucked away in his wardrobe.

Not that she snoops of course.

If Draco is surprised she would admit to her sneaky knowledge, he doesn't show it. "It is. And it has found its home on Hermione's hand."

A nod is her only response. "That seems to have happened suddenly, my love. I do hope you would not disgrace our family by placing a young lady in… the family way… before nuptials?

"What are you-oh! No of course not! I'm capable of a contraceptive charm, Mother."

"Oh, Draco don't be so crass. I only hope the best for you, Darling. You and Miss Granger."

"Yes so I heard. A mind healer? Really?"

She finally stops fussing over the tiny tree and places the clippers on the table. "Yes, Draco, a healer. A very respectable one at that. I know she has been doing reasonably well but she's still not addressing her most critical issue as you are aware."

"Her parents."

"Yes, obviously, her parents," she returns, exasperated. "She'll never heal until she comes to term with that."

"She will. She's no longer having the nightmares about the war and she's finally able to talk about my cousin without breaking down."

"Poor Nymphadora." Narcissa shakes her head with a little sadness. Her relationship with her sister, Nymphadora's Mother, has somewhat reconnected after the war. She regrets not really knowing her before the loss of her daughter. Andromeda is probably in as much need of a mind healer as Hermione. She straightens then and returns to the topic at hand. "Regardless, Draco, as encouraging as all of that is, those tragedies are not the moments that broke her so completely. The guilt and rejection she carries over her parents is palpable. She's just not thinking about it. And she may not have a compulsion charm, but you love her too much to push the subject. It won't just go away."

"So I should what? Book a honeymoon in Australia and camp outside their house? Tie them all to chairs and make them stare at her until she breaks?"

"I don't appreciate your tone," she says with narrowed eyes. Draco is quick to back down.

"My apologies. I find my protective tendencies toward her make me less than agreeable."

"And blind, little dragon. She doesn't always need protecting. Sometimes she needs encouragement or even a firm hand."

He nods in agreement though he's not actually convinced.

"Now, to more pleasant topics. On what shall we dine when your Father comes home?"

Ah, party planning. We all have a favorite form of therapy.

XXXXX

"I'd like to offer a toast." Narcissa Malfoy is resplendent in emerald green robes as she raises her glass. Lucius sits to her left. Tonight they've chosen to dine at the large round table in their south dining room. The idea being there is no "head" of the table as not to confuse the subject of family leadership. The old guard, like Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson, see Lucius as the obvious head of family. The younger set, like Blaise Zabini, now a successful entrepreneur amongst the quiddich supplies circles, would look to his friend Draco as he is the official head of house.

If you asked Lucius and Draco who leads the Malfoy family, they'd not hesitate to agree in unabashed unison, "Narcissa."

The massive table, seats twelve comfortably and tonight each chair is full. The roster besides the Malfoy family, Blaise, and the Parkinson elders include Pansy, her fiancée Theo Nott, Zabini's Mother, Narcissa's sister Andromeda along with her grandson Teddy, and Hermione of course. As Malfoy gatherings go, it is intimate to say the least. Narcissa would have gladly filled a ballroom under normal circumstances but she is hoping for an early night and some alone time with her husband. It's easy to call a dinner party short rather than sneak away from a grand affair.

"To my Lucius. You have braved countless trials and defeated all that would conquer your will. I am so proud of you, my love. Welcome home."

Eleven glasses raise from the table to join her solitary stemware. A mumbled, "to Lucius" in response, mostly from the Parkinsons and, oddly, Hermione. She has put on, more than a brave face, but an air of confidence Draco has not seen from her in a long time. He recognizes it is taking effort on her part but is impressed regardless.

His Mother retakes her seat and snaps. Twelve house elves appear each with an identical plate and places one in front of each guest simultaneously. They remove the bell covers and offer a quick bow before departing with a 'pop'. Hermione sneaks in a quick 'thank you' before Tilby vanishes. Draco notices the smile on the little elf's face at her polite words.

One elf has stayed behind and addresses the diners. "We is pleased to serve all with breast of a water fowl. Duck is having plum sauce and also there are potatoes most smashed."

'Pop' and the last elf takes her leave.

"Draco what a lovely choice."

"Thank you, Mother. In some cultures, ducks signify good fortune; in others, transition. It seemed appropriate in either regard." Narcissa has been asking Draco's advice on all things culinary for nearly three years, since his fascination with muggle cuisine broadened his knowledge beyond her own.

The chatter around the table slowly builds as diners break off into small clusters. Draco and Hermione find themselves speaking with Blaise and Andromeda. Mostly Blaise as Andromeda has her hands full with a relatively bored, nearly-adolescent boy.

"Who would have imagined: Draco Malfoy and the Gryffindor Princess herself. Congratulations, mate." Draco nods his thanks. "So when's the big date then?"

"Around the Christmas hols maybe. It's really up to her." Draco directs a thumb at Hermione and she shrugs.

"We both know it's up to Narcissa. How long does it take to plan a wedding by her standards? We could run off to Cabo together tomorrow and I'd be just as pleased."

"You will do no such thing." Eleven sets of eyes settle on the house Matriarch as she has seemed to overhear their conversation. She continues, but talking to the group, "She's joking of course."

Hermione smiles with pure indulgence. "Of course, Narcissa. I only meant I would be happy to be with your son in any circumstance." Draco's Mother smiles, pleased at the thought. He notices Pansy wince a little and feels a little sorry for Theo. The fact that she had settled for the junior Nott is not exactly unknown.

"If I may…" Draco looks at his Father in surprise. The man has been stoic since his arrival at the manor, having barely spoken to, or acknowledged, anyone save Narcissa all night. Not to say he has been impolite necessarily. But certainly he has offered the bare minimum to be even considered proper decorum.

"I'd like to thank each of you for attending this very welcome occasion. To old friends," he raises his glass to the Parkinsons, "and new." Draco stifles a reaction when Lucius directs toward Hermione. The Parkinsons have more trouble in stifling theirs but cause no real scene.

The polite chatter resumes, though there is a slight chill from the entire Parkinson tribe. Pansy manages to work in a couple of jabs about plebian muggle matrimony ideas such as eloping and something called DIY though no one pays her much attention. If Hermione notices she does not allow it to affect her chipper mood. Draco continues to be impressed by her resilience and to wonder, yet again in so many weeks, why she ever thought she wasn't strong enough to survive her past tragedies. Perhaps his Mother is correct and she is simply expert at avoidance.

Slowly, the guests begin to take their leave. Pansy and Theo are the first to depart. Draco appreciates Theo's attempt at a polite excuse of an 'early day tomorrow' but the effort is nearly for naught as his betrothed virtually storms out the door. How he ever entertained the notion of proposing to the entitled bint is beyond him. Andromeda with a quickly fading young boy are next, followed closely by the Parkinsons then the Zabini's. Blaise shakes first Draco's then Lucius' hand. He kisses Narcissa's knuckles in the most gentlemanly fashion and moves to offer the same to Hermione. She quickly rights her hand to a sideways posture and gives a firm and professional shake. "None of your flirting, Zabini." She smiles and he returns it with amusement.

Not breaking her gaze he addresses his friend. "I like this one, Drake. Let me know if she's ever too much for you to handle."

"She's all mine, Blaise. Find your own." He's rewarded for his teasingly possessive behavior when Hermione slips her arm through his and stands close, staking her own claim.

Left alone, the three Malfoys plus Hermione retire to a sitting room for a digestif. Draco is feeling mild effects from the wine at dinner and is not sure he's in peak form for the first private conversation with his parents and his fiancée.

"It is my understanding that Congratulations are in order."

Draco begins to respond but Hermione gives no pause. "Yes, sir, that would be appropriate."

"Then, Miss Granger, allow me to offer mine. I hope you are prepared to take up the mantel of the new 'Mrs. Malfoy'. Our society requires certain traditions, expectations if you will. Do you think you are up for the task? I know we are outside of your wheelhouse as it were."

"Ah yes with my Muggle background and all. Rest assured, Lucius-… may I call you Lucius?" He voice is sweet as honey. Draco looks at her in a little awe before focusing back on his Father.

Lucius grits his teeth but offers a smile. The effect is a bit menacing but Hermione is nonplussed. "I suppose that would be appropriate," he nearly parrots her own words back to her.

Narcissa interjects, "Don't be ridiculous of course you can. Soon enough you could call him Father. We are your family now."

The room stands still as that sinks in to all parties in question. The banter and jabs that were inevitably building between Hermione and Lucius are forgotten a moment and she continues with a little more respect in her tone. "I assure you, I intend to be a witch Draco is proud to have by his side, just as I am proud to have him beside me."

He nods in response. "I have faith in your…intentions. You'll forgive me if I wonder: can you know what pureblood-" he stops and shifts in his chair. "Excuse me, I mean to say, Wizarding society. What we require? Being muggleborn and all."

"I take your meaning. I wasn't raised to attend balls and take tea in the solarium. How will I ever cope? I think you overestimate the difficulty of learning high society etiquette. What's more, my family, though not as Midas wealthy as you, were well positioned in our world. I took ballet classes and learned which forks to use as a young girl. I'm well read in literature, versed in the skill of conversation… I think if I was so inclined I might manage walking with a book on my head."

"Why would you want to walk with a book on your head?" They all turn to Draco. Hermione smiles at him with affection. He's not sure what he's missed but that smile is welcome regardless.

Narcissa speaks over the silence that follows. "I think, Hermione, you have the grace and poise to rival any old family but with a bright intellect that would shame the lot of them. Don't you agree, Lucius?" She looks at him pointedly and he scans Hermione from her head to her feet.

"I am aware behavior can be learned with time," is his aloof response. But it's not exactly an argument so the room takes a relieved breath.

"Now," Narcissa begins, "let's discuss the event." Draco swears his Mother almost squeals.

It is decided the ceremony and following reception will be held at the manor. The ceremony in the lavish gardens and the reception in their grand ballroom. When you live at one of the most prestigious locations in Wizarding Britain, why book a hall?

They will indeed host a winter wedding, as Draco and Hermione had anticipated. Charming the gardens to maintain bright holiday flowers and a warm atmosphere for the afternoon will allow a beautiful but comfortable backdrop for their nuptials. Hermione has very little in the way of preferences, deferring mostly to Narcissa's wishes, though she does intend to wear a muggle style gown. Scandalous perhaps amongst the pureblood circles, Hermione wants to feel beautiful on her wedding day and those little girl dreams of a fitted and flattering dress will not die easily. Narcissa relents with little hesitation, pleased that her future daughter-in-law is at least showing some interest.

Lucius and Draco are predictably quiet. Not caring about the details of the wedding is something they can agree upon with fervor. Then Narcissa speaks and the room feels thick with tension.

"Who do you imagine will 'give you away' in the old tradition, Hermione? That is after all an aspect shared by muggles and wizards alike."

"I-"

The Malfoy family studies her, seeing that flash of sorrow in her eyes. Draco is annoyed at the insensitive question from his Mother. When he looks at her, he would swear she is smiling just slightly. _Sneaky bitch_ , he thinks. _She did that on purpose._

Hermione straightens herself and says with a strong voice that only shakes for a moment in the beginning, "I-I suppose I might ask Arthur Weasley. They have all been like family to me, even after things ended with Ron.

Lucius scowls. Obviously the Weasleys being invited had not occurred to him, let alone having to allow them to participate in the event.

Narcissa just nods, still seeming pleased with herself. "That's a lovely gesture, dear. I'm sure Arthur will be honored."

When a clock strikes the eleventh hour, Draco and Hermione stand to take their leave. Lucius shakes Draco's hand and, in a show of near affection, claps him on the back once. Even Narcissa seems a little surprised. Hermione offers her hand to shake. In a play much like hers with Zabini, changing the situation to what he deems is proper, he takes the offered hand and turns it horizontal so he might brush a light kiss across her skin. "Miss Granger, it has been a pleasure." Hermione blushes a little and Draco rolls his eyes.

Hermione is the first through the floo, Draco gesturing her forward and whispering he will be right behind her.

"I just want to...thank you both. Mother you have been accepting from the beginning and I'm grateful but Father I... I just never expected..."

A beat of silence follows and Lucius responds to the stammering unsaid thanks.

"Your witch is waiting. Good night, son." His voice is uncharacteristically soft and Draco simply nods, following Hermione through the flames.

Narcissa slides her arm into the crook of Lucius' elbow. "That went well. I'm proud of you."

He grunts in response. "The girl's not completely unfit, I suppose. For a muggleborn. And Draco seems content."

"Ever the master of understatement, my dear. Shall we retire?"

Lucius looks down at his lovely wife and his mouth broadens into what might be the first genuine grin he has allowed since he was a young man. "Absolutely. I love you, Cissy."

"And I you. Welcome home."

XXXXXX

Hermione is wearing a thin-strapped tank top and Draco's very favorite knickers: all lace, boy cut, solid black.

She slides under the sheets and snuggles into him, relishing his warmth that seems perpetual. Her feet are cold and she rests them against his leg.

He jumps a little pulling his legs away, "You're freezing!"

"I'm aware. That's why I need your legs so give them back, thanks."

He rolls her onto her back and looms above her, pinning her beneath him. "If you want me to warm you, I have more effective methods."

Hermione slide her hands around his neck and pulls him down, finding his mouth with hers and languidly nibbling at his lips. "Do you think tonight went well?" She has paused and spoken with her mouth still ghosting his own.

Draco smiles at her though she's too close to see. "I think it was exceptional, all things considered. Except maybe the Parkinsons."

"How in the world did you stand dating her? Even just as a formality."

"Hey you dated a Weasel. And I've seen him eat."

She chuckles softly. "I suppose we can't judge each other too harshly."

There is a silence, each lost in thought. Draco plays with her curls lovingly, strokes the skin of her face with reverence.

Hermione is the first to speak again. "I should ask… I should speak with Arthur. About the wedding. Invite him to uh… be a part of the ceremony."

Draco frowns at her inability to even speak the phrase that he will 'give her away' and knows she is thinking of her Father. "Are you sure? We could just forego that element. You're no ones to give away after all. Well… I mean you're _mine_ of course," he teases, "but I'd be a fool to let you go."

Seeming grateful for the distraction, she hastily latches on to the flippant remark and builds upon it to her own ends. "Yours, am I? How do you plan to stake that claim." In a swift movement, she has pushed him off of her and straddles his now prone form, grinding gently against him and feeling the obvious effects.

She sheds the thin tank top from her body and tosses it carelessly into the dark room. Her body is illuminated in the moon light. Draco runs his hands down her sides, letting his grip finally settle on her hips and softly guide her to rock against him. She leans down, pressing her breasts against his chest as she does and breathes into his ear, "Perhaps _you_ are _mine_."

"I've no complaints about that. What would you have of me then, Mistress?"

"Everything."

And she does.

A/N - So this is the longest I've left a multi-chapter without an update but on the Brightside, it's also my longest chapter I believe so hopefully that makes up for it a bit. I must apologize for the delay. I spent much of last week in meetings and the weekend out of state for a family wedding. I didn't even get around to replying to reviews for which I am most sorry but believe me when I say I appreciated them nonetheless. Thank you to all of you who have favorite and followed in this last week and to the reviewers: White Pawn, HarryPGinny, LanaLee, Myrddin, shaymars, Kermit, and Chester thank you thank you thank you!


	24. Chapter 24

"Well, The Prophet is having a field day with this."

Hermione flops down at the dining room table with Ginny, watching her spoon some smashed produce or other that is mostly ending up on her baby's chin rather than inside his mouth. "Yes I saw that. Narcissa's doing, I suppose?"

"If she's to be believed, and between you and me that's a bit questionable, she claims she only asked for a small write up in the Society pages. But this…"

She gestures at the Headline screaming on the front of the Wizarding world's most well circulated periodical.

" _Muggleborn Rights Advocate Hermione Granger to Wed Pureblood Prince Draco Malfoy"_

The article goes on to describe the new age of Wizarding society in which old prejudice is pushed aside in favor of love and tolerance. One of the famed 'sacred twenty-eight' is about to allow the first (provable) blemish into its line.

And they actually used the word 'blemish'. She doesn't care for that.

"At least it's favorable. Sort of." Ginny shrugs and spoons the last bit of unrecognizable orange goo into her son's mouth. "So where are we off to?"

"A place in London. Brown or something. It's a muggle store."

Ginny wipes the goo away from her child and herself and picks up the squirming baby. "Thank Merlin Mum could take James. There's no way I could do this with him."

"Thank you, Molly Weasley," Hermione agrees with dramatic flourish but pure sincerity.

"Ginny, dear!" Comes from the other room.

The two women look at each other and mutter in unison, "speak of the devil…"

"In here, Mum!"

"Oh Ginny darling- Hermione! I'm so so happy for you. I only wish I could come along with you today but _someone_ has to mind the little one!" Hermione smiles at the woman and her words that are dripping with martyrdom.

"Me too, Mrs. Weasley, but thank you for watching James. Perhaps Ginny can find a gown today as well. Then you and I can go shopping for your dress robes another day?" she suggests.

"Yes yes of course! We can take tea and a bit of lunch and just make a lovely day of it."

Ginny and Hermione waste no more time, knowing Molly will keep them chatting all afternoon if they allow it. Soon they are in muggle London, entering a lovely salon that specializes in Bridal attire. Ever practical, Hermione's first instinct is toward frugality. However, she promised Narcissa only one thing today: She would allow herself to choose the gown that she loved the most. Any question of cost would be covered by the Malfoy fortune. She is instructed to ignore price tags. This was the deal. Otherwise, Narcissa had informed her, she would escort her personally to ensure she complied with, what was in the Malfoy matriarch's opinion, such a trifling matter.

So when the muggle consultant asks her budget, Hermione replies, "I've no real budget." She doesn't need to read minds to know the woman doesn't believe her. With a quick and nearly unnoticeable pan of her gaze down Hermione's modest clothing, she takes in a breath and nods. "Well then, let's get started shall we?"

Nearly twenty gowns into the appointment, Hermione is nearing the end of her patience. She is under the distinct impression the muggle is equally frustrated and in no way believes Hermione intends to buy anything.

In what feels very much like a last ditch effort, the woman sweeps into the room with a gown on a cream fabric hanger. "This is an American designer. Only been around a few years but very prestigious. Dressing for the Red Carpet you know."

She looks over the gown and shrugs. "It's pretty. Let's try it." She feels bad it sounds half-hearted but she's already given up.

No one is more surprised than Hermione herself when she looks at the mirror and whispers, "I think this is the one." With a halter style top and deeply plunging neck, the gown is more revealing than perhaps she would have normally considered. Though the bodice is made entirely of a fine French lace which somehow tempers the risqué factor and adds a classic appeal. Exiting the dressing room with the consultant carrying the tulle train, she reaches the main show area where Ginny is waiting. The skirt puffs around her hips in a luscious froth and she feels elegant and timeless, beautiful and alluring. The gown's designer is named Monique and she thinks of summer vacations in Paris as a girl. It all just feels right.

"Oh honey, you like a bloody princess." Ginny's comment is cliché and silly but she doesn't care. She _feels_ like a damn princess. Marrying her Pureblood Prince no less. She gives herself a private smirk. She finally settles in front of the mirror, Ginny sitting behind her on a small overstuffed sofa and smiling back at her from the mirror. The consultant, who is decidedly more excited now, hands her a bouquet of less than impressive silk flowers for effect and vanishes for a moment. "Let's just add a veil. I think we may have found The One!"

When she returns, she adds a long veil that drapes the floor beyond the train of the gown. The edge is trimmed in a lace perfectly coordinating to the bodice. Hermione barely has time to register how very _bride-like_ she now appears when the woman pulls the short second layer over Hermione's head, the effect to slightly obscure her in a haze of tradition and romance. "Of course you don't have to use the blusher but it is such a beautiful part of the ceremony. Traditional but sweet too. When your father gives you away, it's such an intimate moment after all." The muggle is grinning but it fades as the tears well up in Hermione's eyes. "Oh, or your Mother or, that is to say, if you do the 'giving away' bit of course, it's not…"

"Can you give us a moment please?" Ginny has risen and is approaching Hermione in the mirror, eyes watching her fallen face. The muggle nods and can't get away fast enough.

"I always imagined they'd be here. They won't be here now or… ever! And not just because I sent them away. Because… they… hate… me!" Her speech deteriorates into sobs by the end and she buries her face into her hands, the blusher serving as a bit of protection against the harsh spot lights. Ginny slides her arms around her friend and holds her while she cries, shushing and placating but she doesn't have any words to soothe truth. From what she knows of Hermione's experience with Mr. and Mrs. Granger, now Wilkins, she's not sure they hate her per say, but the truth of it is almost as heartbreaking: They won't forgive her. She's relatively certain they loved her in an obligatory parental way, but she's not as sure they _liked_ her.

Eventually, the tears run dry and Hermione insists she's fine. She chooses the dress with only a little trepidation. She loves it, truly, and is trying not to let her emotional moment ruin its appeal. She tries to distract herself with imagining Draco's face at the plunging neckline, knowing he is nearly as likely to eye-fuck her cleavage as he is to go misty at her regally romantic silhouette. Then she imagines Lucius and his judgmental-McJudgy-pants expression and that delights her to _no_ end. She shares a laugh with her friend over that.

The veil is a tougher choice for her to commit to. Ginny reminds her that in the most traditional ceremonies, the groom is the one to reveal her as his wife, avoiding the question of parental involvement. Not that Arthur is not pleased as punch to be a part of her event and her life, but it's obvious the pain is still cutting her deep.

In the end it's a decent day. Hermione is not sure if she feels like she turned a corner in her healing or if she stepped back two paces. What she can admit is she's not quite there yet. Maybe Narcissa was right…

Damn it.

XXXXX

"Good afternoon, Madam. My name is Narcissa Malfoy. Might I speak with you a moment?"

Narcissa is standing on a muggle stoop outside of a muggle door in a particularly muggle area of Perth, Australia. Though she could nearly shudder with the displeasure of the location, her confidence radiates and the woman across the threshold seems immediately intimidated.

Regardless of her obvious discomfort but not wanting to appear rude, and thinking she is being rather foolish feeling nervous around a lone middle-aged woman, the muggle stands aside.

"Please come in. Might I ask what this is regarding?"

Stepping through the door and giving the room a quick once over (Clean, attractive furniture, a few photos, one of those odd muggle moving picture boxes…) she turns back to the woman and with absolutely no ceremony delves into her head and undoes the spell Hermione had cast.

Mrs. Wilkins a moment ago and now Mrs. Granger once again looks back at Narcissa in absolute terror. "Who are you?" she manages to rasp out, all the while backing away until her back has hit the banister leading to the second floor. "Are you one of them? Those… those Dead Eaters?"

"Death Eaters, Madam. And no," she replies, affronted, "I am not."

"Monica? Darling, was that the door?" A man enters the room from Narcissa's right. His wife is out of his view so he looks at the blond witch and extends his hand to shake. "Wendell Wilkins. And you are?"

Instead of taking the hand, she casts the same counter spell and watches as realizations dawns on his face as well. He scrambles back a step before looking around the corner for his wife. When he finds her, he rushes to her side and they stand together, holding one another, Dr. Thomas Granger just slightly in front as if to protect his wife, though he is shivering more than she.

Narcissa straightens and brushes at the shoulder of her dress, as if to remove any invisible dust that may have settled. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger," she misses the slight stiffening from the latter that she has not addressed them with the professional title of Doctor. Narcissa really has no time for such things. "My name is Narcissa Malfoy, as I may have mentioned when you so graciously invited me into your home. My son, Draco, has asked your lovely daughter to marry him and she has accepted. However, she is riddled with guilt surrounding you and her part in sending you to this," she sniffs in derision, "very very _hot_ country."

Narcissa steps just a little closer to the couple who flinch back slightly. "I personally want you to know that your daughter is one of the most agreeable people I've encountered. Her decision to send you here to protect you was selfless and she misses you deeply. She is also very aware of the disdain with which you look upon what we are. If Hermione were my daughter, and in fact she will be in all the ways that matter very soon, I should be grateful for the privilege. She doesn't know I'm here. She believes you will never forgive her for what she's done. Maybe she's right, but I'm giving you this opportunity to consider if you would like to still have a child. If you prefer to return to being the Wilkins family, childless with nothing extraordinary in your lives, then I can re-cast her spell."

Secretly, Narcissa knows continuing to cast memory charms on the couple will start having long term effects. However, if they choose to forsake their own child, she can't bring herself to much care.

She reaches into her handbag which makes the muggles flinch from her yet again and pulls out a photo. Turning it so they can see it is harmless, she glides across to the couple and holds out her hand, offering the image.

Thomas sneers at it but finally his wife reaches out and takes it with a shaking hand.

"This is your daughter and my son. Isn't he handsome?" She couldn't help the commentary. "They don't know I took that photo any more than they know I'm here. My son would most likely disown me. You know how dramatic children can be," she laughs a little and smiles like they are sharing a secret joke. The Grangers just blink in reply.

Narcissa waves away her mirth and continues. "Do you see how she smiles in this moment? Really _look_ at your little girl." At the more casual, nearly intimate phrasing, they do indeed look down and find their daughter smiling back at them softly. "Do you see how the smile doesn't touch her eyes?"

She braves one more step forward and is now close enough to easily touch. "Your daughter helped save countless lives in the Wizarding War, including your own. She holds a respected position in the Ministry, is surrounded by friends who adore and protect her, and is about to marry into a prestigious family that, until now, has never allowed a muggleborn inclusion. Your daughter is a treasure yet she smiles this sad smile because she is effectively orphaned and it eats away at her. She has shared with me your distaste of our world. Believe me when I say I have little love for yours. But she needs her heritage as surely as she needs breath. As I have accepted her parentage, you must accept _her_."

Narcissa turns and steps toward the door. "Or, you can go back to being the Wilkins and she need never know you rejected her again. She does not deserve a fraction of the pain you have caused. I will return to you in one week for your decision. Keep the photo for that time at least. Consider if you love her enough to accept her of if you are not fit to be her parents. I won't hesitate to agree with you if that is the case." And with that last haughty comment, she departs, leaving them shaking in her wake, clutching a photo in shock.

She strolls back toward Wizarding Perth to return home before her family realizes she is not tending her green house as she claimed.

Perhaps it was not terribly kind, Narcissa thinks, to so rock their established world and then walk away. But she has little kindness to spare for poor parents. Having done everything in her power under dire circumstances to protect her own son, the least they can do is pick themselves up after one little memory charm.

If you can scoff internally, she does. _Memory charm. Please. Some of us have real problems._


	25. Chapter 25

When Narcissa returns to Perth, the air is, in her opinion, sweltering. _Disgusting penal colony of a continent_ , she thinks, turning up her nose at the very thought. It is dusk and the manufactured muggle lights are just beginning to illuminate against the slightly pink sky, the last remaining evidence of the sun waning rapidly.

The Granger's home is dark and she assumes they have stepped out. Though it is far from proper, she finds herself not having enough respect for them to care and casts Alohomora on the door, letting herself inside. She freezes in the entryway. The house is immaculate and by immaculate, Narcissa means it is completely empty. The moderately attractive furniture, photos of the pair, wall art, even that obnoxious muggle picture box...gone. The room has been stripped. Passing from the sitting room to what she imagines would have been the dining room and then the kitchen, she finds much of the same. The large appliances still hum in the kitchen but otherwise it is all bare countertops and open cabinet doors. Not so much as a package of crisps left behind.

Narcissa, for all of her stately posture and air of indifference, is crestfallen. She had never once believed Thomas and Jean Granger would actually abandon their daughter when given the proper chance. She understood they were angry at the girl for overstepping the usual bounds of a child to a parent. She had even tried, though it is nearly impossible really, to understand their dislike for the Wizarding world, trying to imagine the roles reversed if muggle society was more exclusive and she found out Draco belonged there instead... not that _that_ would ever happen of course.

So she had given them a chance to come to terms before obliterating their memories once more as Hermione had so hastily done. In her mind, when she imagined this fanciful world in which her son is a muggle, she also imagined she would see her child grown and beautiful and forsake her entire world if she had to, all for him. She can't believe a Mother failed to give all for her daughter.

She scans the house for the photo of Hermione and Draco, not finding it and wondering if they took it along with them as a memento, or simply tossed it into the rubbage bin and thought no more on their only child.

She could make an effort to find them of course. And she would nearly do it for the girl she has come to know and maybe even love. But ultimately she recognizes it was their choice to make and they simply do not deserve her.

Narcissa removes herself from their disgusting muggle domicile, leaving the door standing open and the quiet hum of the house to its own devices. She had half a mind to burn it to the ground if only to financially damage the selfish blighters, assuming they still own the property.

That would be most uncivilized she knows and settles for splintering the coat closet door as she leaves with a very satisfied, very _petty_ , smile on her face.

XXXXX

"You did what!?"

"Really, Draco, is that volume necessary? I'm just across the room."

"How could you even consider… you had no right!"

Narcissa sets her cup of tea on the table beside her and straightens, meeting her son's angry gaze with her own stern countenance. "I had just as much right as Miss Granger had. I took it upon myself to do something I thought best. The difference being, I _reversed_ a spell rather than casting one. A very difficult one without killing them I might add. You're welcome." She picks up the cup and takes a sip.

"Why in Merlin's name would you do that?"

"Draco, don't you imagine it would have been easier for her to come to terms with her guilt if she had reconciled with the source of her sorrow? I don't see how this changes things for the worse. It could have only been positive or, as it appears, stay the same."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes closed. "I wish you had discussed with me… with _her_ … before you took this upon yourself."

"What's done is done, my dove. Now tell me, do you have your dress robes?" Draco is struck by how quickly that twinkle can return to her eye.

"Yes, Mother," he grits out, "and I've been fitted for tailoring. I do know how these things work."

"Allow a woman to dote on her only child, darling. This is after all, my only time to enjoy a family wedding so close to my heart. Until my grandchildren marry of course."

"Always a dozen steps ahead aren't you? Not even married yet and you have me with grown children and grey hair."

"Pfft. As if a Malfoy would be prematurely grey. Preposterous."

"Are you going to tell, Hermione?"

"About the hair? Or the grandchildren?"

"About her _parents_."

"Oh that, Merlin no. Why upset the poor girl? Nothing to be done about it now."

Draco clenches his jaw. "So now you've put me in a position to either go against that sentiment or lie to my fiancée? Excellent," he grumbles under this breath.

"Don't mumble, Draco, it's unseemly. And you're not lying obviously. To not divulge is simply marital privilege."

Draco actually laughs at that. "Something tells me that doesn't work if Father tries _not divulging_ to you."

"It might. He's just so wretched at it I always find out anyway." She smiles into her tea before continuing. "I heard your fiancée had a little difficulty when choosing her gown."

It's true, Hermione had admitted to Draco she had been a little overwhelmed, looking at herself in her bridal gown, veil ghosting her face, and realizing her parents would not even be in attendance. Where his Mother had heard he can't imagine, so he asks.

"Oh you know how these things are. The Potter girl tells her Mother and you know how that Molly likes to speak out of turn. Next thing you know the whole tribe of Weasleys is discussing it over dinner. Andromeda picks up Teddy from a play date with one of the older sibling's children and voila! I have my intelligence."

"Well, it's true enough but she seems to have bounced back."

She hums in reply, as though agreeing but somehow coming across as though to say "If that's what you think, you have another think coming." But instead the hum is followed by silence and Draco shifts his weight and huffs.

"There's my beautiful wife." Lucius Malfoy stalks into the room and takes a seat next to Narcissa. "Draco. Are we to see you for dinner this evening or did you just stop in to visit?"

"I can't very well 'stop in' my own home, Father. You do remember this is my home yes?" Draco is not terribly greedy. Oh he enjoys his fine life of course but the Malfoy fortune is far too vast to expect he could spend it alone. But that expectation from his father that Lucius will waltz back onto his throne and Draco will just need to go elsewhere is starting to grate on his nerves.

"Yes, yes of course. I only meant you spend so much time in that muggle residence, it's strange to see you here."

"It's not a muggle flat, Father. It is simply _close_ to muggle London."

"Semantics. So, what are we discussing?"

Draco starts to speak but Narcissa cuts him off. "Draco and I were just discussing his dress robes for the ceremony. Which reminds me, have _you_ made your appointment yet?"

"I… no not yet, my flower. I will first thing tomorrow."

"Wonderful. I expect not to remind you again. Remember, it takes time for fittings and alterations. Also, did you look into that produce vendor I mentioned? The one with the exotic fruits? The elves could do wonders with some more interesting ingredients. Do say you haven't forgotten have you? I hope it's not too late. These things must be done in advance. Really all of this planning is almost too much. Such a burden being the Mother of the groom with no Mother of the bride to lean on." Narcissa daintily rests her face upon her fingertips, eyes fluttering closed with the weight of her supposed stress. "Perhaps I should speak with Molly Weasley a bit more…bring her around the manor. I'm sure she would be more than happy to assist with these little tasks. Oh! What if we invite them for dinner? Get to know the surrogate parents of our future daughter in law. I'm sure Arthur will be pleased to help you with fruit suppliers and other tasks if it is too much on your own, my darling."

Lucius rises quickly and takes his wife's hand. "My love, I will floo the supplier right now and then head to the tailor. I do hate to see you stress. Your porcelain skin should never be touched by worry. I'll be back for dinner, pet."

Draco has never seen him walk more quickly. When he looks back at his mother, she is once again smiling into her tea and he realizes his father will never be a match for her.

She looks up and quirks one thin brow. "What?"

When Draco quirks a matching blond brow back in silent reply she scoffs, "Oh please, you think I don't know how to get him to run an errand? I've my tea to finish and then I'll be directing dinner. He is such a bother when he has nothing to do. I love him dearly of course but he is quite clingy sometimes."

That might be insensitive, what with the man just coming out of prison, but it's Lucius so Draco just laughs.

XXXXX

"I went to St. Mungo's today."

"Oh? Have you been feeling unwell?" Draco sets his fork across his plate and lays the back of his hand against Hermione's forehead.

She bats it away with a bit of a laugh. "I'm fine, stop that."

She lowers her eyes to her plate and spoons a bite of potatoes into her mouth, keenly aware his eyes are on her but she chews slowly before continuing softly. "I went to see that… that mind healer. The one your Mother mentioned."

"Well that's…" He considers carefully: Good? He doesn't want to give the impression he was taking his Mother's side. "…surprising," he finally settles upon.

She shrugs and drags her spoon through her food distractedly. "I thought it couldn't hurt."

"And was it…?"

"Helpful?" she suggests to finish his sentence. He nods. "I don't know. Too soon to tell maybe? I should really thank your Mother. I know she's just trying to help. Maybe I've been a little unkind."

Draco considers this. Taking into account his Mother's most recent meddling, he doesn't think his witch should be the one feeling guilty. Ultimately he thinks nothing good can come of divulging Narcissa's intrusion and placates as best as he can. "She knows you appreciate it really. As much as anyone can appreciate their Mother-in-Law trying to interfere in their lives."

Hermione chuckles and picks up her mostly empty plate. "Done?" He nods and she takes his plate as well.

He watches her a moment, her back to the room, rinsing the dishes in the muggle way and approaches her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. He is smiling but it drops quickly when she stiffens a little and says, "Draco, can we talk?"

With a groan he untangles himself. "No conversation _ever_ , in the history of ever, has started with those words from a witch and not been exceedingly bad for the bloke."

She turns around and leans on the sink behind her with her elbows and grins. "Oh please, it's not _that_ bad."

"I'll be the judge of that," he motions with a 'come hither' of his upturned fingers. "Out with it then. I leave socks around the flat too much? Need to spend more time with your mates? Should I be a more generous lover?" He wriggles his eyebrows and smirks.

She laughs a little and visibly relaxes. "Gods no! I mean, I won't complain if you want to try harder of course. You could never be _too_ generous," she winks. "But no, I was just thinking…where are we going to live?"

Hermione turns back around and continues with her cleaning as she speaks. "I mean, I can't believe we haven't talked about it really. You have your flat, I have this one, there's the manor…"

Draco's brows migrate a bit closer to his hairline. No one is more surprised than him that he hasn't thought about it either.

"I mean," she goes on, "I'm not expecting to live here. My lease is up next month and I thought I'd just let it go, move in with you before the wedding-I mean if that's ok with you! But it's silly to keep it. Your flat is paid for so it would be impractical to continue to rent this one. But then you always said you thought of the manor as being your real home. The flat was just a…well… I don't need to say out loud its main purpose," she finishes primly.

Draco winces. He probably shouldn't have admitted he bought the place so he could date muggles without his Mother's knowledge, 'date' being a generously polite word. Granger had been clever enough to figure out it was basically just a shag-pad. He decides to interrupt before she makes the room even more uncomfortable. "I always assumed we would move into the manor."

She turns to him again, surprise on her face. "Really? I mean, with your parents there and everything?"

He furrows his brow in response. "I thought you were getting on fairly well."

"Oh we are! I mean your Mother and I are. Your Father… well he hasn't called me the 'M' word or flashed his mark at me so I think he's being downright warm, considering. Anyway, that's not what I meant to imply. It's just… I never imagined getting married and moving in with my husband to his Mum's house you know?"

"That's because you didn't know you were marrying a Malfoy," he says with a bit of puffed pride. "It's not a house, Granger. It's a manor. An _estate_. Not uncommon for more than one generation to reside within. They have their own wing for Merlin's sake. We'll hardly see them."

He pauses a moment and has a disturbing thought. "Did you… did you want me to ask them to leave?"

"Of course not! Oh my God, Draco, I'd never! It's their _home_ , even if you legally own it. I just didn't know if you would want… I mean if we might think about…Ugh!" She growls in frustration. "Would it be so terrible if I just want you to myself? Our own home with our own dining room and able to walk around in the buff in my own sitting room if I so desire?"

He grins, "You minx. I'll buy you a bloody castle if that's your plan."

She blushes and he slides back across the room to place his arms around her once again. "I like your parents…surprisingly… I want them to be a part of our lives and, eventually, you and I and the fates and Gods willing, our children. But can I just have you all to myself for the first few years? I want to keep this," she gestures to the room. "Private dinners, just the two of us. Snuggling on the sofa and not worrying about who might walk in. Shagging in the damn kitchen if I want. It's just… that's how I imagine being married to you and I'm too selfish to share." She offers a lopsided grin and slides her arms around his neck. Tilting her head to meet his, she kisses him on the lips softly, but a hint of things to come in the form of a quick tongue flick.

He whispers against her skin, "Anything you want. I'd live in muggle Canada to keep kissing these lips."

She pauses and pulls back just a fraction, "what's wrong with Canada?"

He smiles and breathes out a little less smoothly than usual, nipping her lips between disjointed thoughts, "Nothing…(nip)…was an example…(nip)…could've said Greenland…(nip)…or Laos…(nip)…or…," and finally resumes the kiss with earnest and no more words. They don't really finish the conversation. He doesn't care. He meant what he said. For Hermione Granger, he'd live anywhere.


	26. Chapter 26

"To Hermione and Draco!"

Nine glasses join Ginny's, tinging together gently. Only a few drops fall from Ron's glass and he mumbles an apology as he cleans the wine off his wife's arm. She grimaces at him as though annoyed but the twinkle in her eye makes it obvious she adores him completely.

What the Daily Prophet has dubbed "The Wedding of the Century: Pureblood Royalty meets Muggleborn Heroine" will take place in one week. Draco and Hermione are hosting a gathering in their flat with an odd mix of their friends. It was initially awkward but wine and conversation are beginning to flow.

Hermione glances to her right to see Blaise Zabini speaking passionately with Harry about quidditch brooms, touting the new Hermes 8000 as the best broom ever made. Harry is loyal to a fault about his aging Firebolt.

Draco is, amazingly, engaged in his own quidditch conversation, though about the professional league instead of the hardware, with Ron of all people and Theodore Nott. Lavender and Ginny giggle beside them. Pansy Nott nee Parkinson is swirling her wine in her glass in a very bored manner. It's all Hermione can do to ignore her rude behavior, for everyone's sake.

A voice who has been quiet much of the night jumps in to the quidditch conversation.

"I'm telling you, mate, this is the Cannon's year!" Ron drops the flat of his hand to the table for emphasis but Draco and Theo both scoff in their own ways: Theo verbally, with an actual scoff, Draco with an eye roll.

"You Cannon fans say that every year," Theo taunts.

"It's a rebuilding year," injects the new voice with a hint of lovable sarcasm.

The three wizards look to the brunette beside Zabini and simultaneously raise their eyebrows in question.

"That's what Chicago Cub fans say in muggle baseball. They're like your Cannons. Super loyal fan base but can't take a Series to save their lives. It's endearing but hopeless," she grins.

"Baseball?" Ron looks adorably perplexed. Hermione shoots a quick look at Lavender and finds her grinning at him and knows she thinks the same thing. Just in less of a little brother, more of a 'I wanna shag him later' kind of way. Hermione is happy for the romantic outcomes for all parties involved and lays her hand on Draco's arm.

Blaise answers for his date. "Muggle sport. Bloke hits a balls with a wooden club and runs around this big field while the other blokes try to tag him with it."

"Sounds silly," offers Pansy.

"Maybe," answers the brunette, "but most sports sound silly when you break them down to basics with virtually no understanding of the game." She jabs Blaise in the arm good naturedly and he grins over at her.

Hermione is mildly horrified to realize she doesn't even know this girl's name. She's sure she was introduced but no finds herself grasping… Katherine…Isabel…Elizabeth!

 _Thank God._

"Elizabeth, do you follow muggle sports closely?" Hermione high-fives herself for pulling out the name.

"Lizzy, please," the girl offers kindly. "And yes actually. My family takes in a few baseball games each season. It falls while quidditch is on off-season so it works out great for me and my brother."

"You're…muggleborn then. I suppose." Pansy's tone is chilly at best but Lizzy doesn't notice. Or doesn't care.

"Oh no, no. My parents are wizards too. I just really like baseball. But it's different in the states. We don't hole ourselves away from muggles. I'd die without my cel phone. How you do it over here is astounding. And no TV either. Ugh, what a shame!" She is spooning a bit of dinner into her mouth and doesn't notice the hush over the room.

"So weird…" Ginny is shaking her head and Lizzy looks up in question.

"Hmm?"

"It's just… I can't imagine it. We're so wrapped up in hiding from muggles. Hating them in some cases." She rolls her eyes in Pansy's direction but no one seems to notice except Hermione who smirks a little and looks away.

Lizzy frowns. "I've heard. Honestly I'm glad none of that made it across the water. Mostly our politicians tried to distance themselves the last couple of decades. No one wanted to get into a war. But we were all really glad when that Riddle guy died. Sucks you guys had to deal with it though." She shrugs and takes another bite.

"Christ, you're refreshing." Nine faces turn to Hermione. "You… I mean you talk like a muggle. But you're a witch. But you don't make a big deal about _being_ a witch but also from the muggle world. We're so… insular over here. You're just a woman named Lizzy who knows how to do magic. Like some people know how to cross-stitch. Or bake pies. But you don't have to hate everybody who can't make a goddamn pie."

Hermione grins a broad, true smile, sunny and bright and Draco thinks she lights the room. He's not sure he's seen a smile so vibrant in months.

"Zabini, I like her. I hope she's coming with you to the wedding." He starts to speak but Hermione shuts him up when she turns back to the witch in question.

"Scratch that, you get your own invitation. Bring Zabini if you want. He never bothered to RSVP anyway."

"Hey! I told Drake I was coming…"

"Pfft. Very poor etiquette, Blaise." Pansy is dabbing at her mouth with her napkin lightly.

Lizzy smiles and places her hand on Zabini's, "I guess he can be my 'plus one'". Blaise folds his arms in a pout but relaxes when his date laughs and kisses his cheek.

"Oy! We're off topic. Tell me more about muggle sports. I need a good off-season hobby." Harry rolls his eyes at Ron but then perks up attentively when the conversation does indeed tumble back into baseball.

XXXXXX

Blaise and Lizzy are the last couple to leave. Surprising, really. Draco assumed he'd have to kick out Potter. He always overstays his welcome (in Draco's opinion of course, not Hermione's). Instead, Zabini and his American girlfriend had finally yawned a regretful good bye only because Draco had pointed out the sky was turning blue.

"Jesus, it's 5:30, Blaise! I'm so, so sorry we kept you. It was great to meet you but I've got to get some sleep!"

Hermione had assured it was absolutely fine and then hugged Blaise. "See you at the wedding. Don't lose my ring." She winks at him but he shakes his head.

"As if he'd even let me have it yet. He'll probably hand it to me in front of the Ministry official just before I'm supposed to hand it back."

Draco shrugs and chuckles a little. "Probably."

When they are finally alone, he slides his arms around Hermione and kisses her temple. "Have a good time, love?"

"The best. Thank you for doing that. I mean, with my friends and everything. I was afraid it would be awkward."

"Pansy was awkward. Everything else was fine. And I like Zabini's witch. I mean she's no Hermione Malfoy but she's ok for a laugh." He smiles down at her and she rewards him with a kiss before backing out of his embrace.

"Bed now. Sleep."

He follows her a bit like a puppy and crawls under the sheets with her, their clothes leaving a trail into the room. When she is snuggled into him he says softly. "You seemed happy today. Almost like you used to be all the time. Only it's real now so that's even better."

He feels her smile against the skin of his chest and she sleepily replies, "I am happy. And I like your friends. 'Cept Pansy maybe. She gets old sometimes…"

He can tell she is nearly out and kisses the top of her head. "Goodnight, Hermione. I love you."

"Love you…" she whispers back. They sleep the morning, never moving from each other's arms.

XXXXX

"Maybe I should go back to Australia."

Draco drops the spoon he's using to stir with a loud clang in the pan. He flinches at the noise and mumbles "sorry" back at his witch.

"You ok?"

"Yes just slipped. No harm done. Why would you go back?"

"Closure maybe? I don't know. I feel like I should just see them again. Even if I don't speak to them. I mean… it still…" She takes in a shuddering breath, calming herself and closing her eyes a moment. "It still hurts but I'm feeling better. I shouldn't… I should have given them a choice, asked if they wanted to be hidden. But still they were angrier than they should have been. I didn't deserve what they gave me."

"No, you didn't. But really why go back then? Just look forward, love. With me. I will appreciate you enough for both of them. And I'm _ever_ so handsome. Or so I've been told." He winks, trying to break the tension and maybe even alleviate his own guilt.

She grins. "That you are." She gives him a quick peck on the cheek before pouring a glass of juice and sitting at the table. "I don't know I guess I just think I need to close the book on that part of me. Maybe I can let them go if I accept what my… my Dad, "she nearly chokes on the word, "tried to tell me. They like being the Wilkins. If I can just see them that way maybe I can be happy for them and let go."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Healer Greene thought it was."

Draco flinches inwardly but on the exterior is nothing but cool. Hermione continues. "I can't avoid it if it's in front of me. And he thinks I'm ready."

"Granger…" He is absolutely fucking lost on how to finish, or even begin really, his thought. What the hell does she say? _'Your parents are so terrified and furious they never want to see you again and hid so you can't even find them'?_

He is cursing his Mother with venom in his mind but outwardly he smiles. "I'm glad you are coming along so well, lover. I need to head to the office for a bit. See you after lunch?"

She nods and takes a sip of her juice, already turning to flip through the Prophet.

Draco floos to his office and, once there, immediately turns around and throws another handful of floo powder into the flames. "Malfoy Manor."

XXXXXX

"Just brilliant, Mother. Absolutely brilliant"

"To what are you referring with such sarcasm?" Narcissa is strolling the gardens, admiring her warming charm and the well-manicured pathways. Her son is approaching in what she would refer to as a 'huff'.

"Hermione just told me she wants to see her parents. And the best part? That sodding healer you recommended is in agreement. What do I do with that? She's going to bleeding kill me you know… for keeping it from her. Merlin's jumped up-"

"Draco, that's quite enough. I will handle it."

"I'm not sure that makes me feel any better. I think you 'handling things' is what put me in this mess."

Cue the "Narcissa wave", as Draco has now mentally labeled it. "I always take care of you, darling. Sometimes you just can't see it." She kisses his cheek and walks back to the manor.

In the sitting room, she picks up a handful of floo powder and tosses it into the flames. She enunciates a very clear "Draco and Hermione number 8 Kingston Ridge" as she dusts off her hands in mild distaste. She's never cared for floo powder.

"Oh, Narcissa, what are you doing here?" Hermione shakes her head and corrects herself. "I'm sorry, that was rude. It's nice to see you I just wasn't expecting you today."

"I apologize for my abrupt entrance but I have a few things to discuss."

Hermione resists the instinct to roll her eyes. Narcissa has found an excuse nearly every other day to obsess over wedding details in the past few weeks. It is a little endearing so she indulges and gestures to the sofa. "Will you have a seat? I can make tea."

"Oh no that's quite alright. But, before we move on to more pleasant details, I must tell you, I took it upon myself to…" she sighs, exasperated at her own inability to broach the subject. "I'm afraid you may not approve of my methods but I made an attempt to reconcile you with your parents. Unfortunately it did not progress as I anticipated."

"Wait…. What? You… you talked to my parents."

"I restored their memories in fact. Unfortunately, after I left them to ponder their relationship with you they seem to have… fled. I'm not sure where they are currently."

"They're gone?! I-I'll never find them now. At least I had an option before. A choice!"

"Hermione, I am sure you can find them if you so desire. Perhaps after life has settled down a bit. For now let's talk of more pleasant things. You have important decisions on which to focus. The wedding-"

"Sod the bloody wedding," she bites out, interrupting Narcissa. The older witch's eyes narrow.

"I'll thank you to speak respectfully, Miss Granger."

Hermione starts. The woman has not called her by her surname in months and it does the job, shocking her into quiet.

Narcissa's face returns to her calm mask and she smiles a pleasant but thin smile. "Now, I understand you are upset. But, darling, they are missing because they do not wish to be found. You have your own life to lead and that life is merging with my son in mere days. Let's have a pleasant afternoon and worry about things we cannot control later."

Hermione looks away; still angry and confused but also a little chastised by the stern, motherly way Narcissa has spoken to her. When she doesn't respond and feels the first prick of warm tears at her eyes, she squeezes them shut and breathes deep. She never notices Narcissa approach her until her hands are resting on her upper arms.

"Hermione." She looks up at the woman, opening her eyes which allows a tear to slide out unbidden. "You have come so far this past year. I apologize if I overstepped my bounds. My wish for you to heal with your family clouded my normally very clear judgement." Hermione gives a half smile at Narcissa's very high opinion of herself. "I am _sorry_ , little dove. Not for trying to help you, you understand. But for the outcome I could not foresee."

She removes one hand from Hermione's arm and places it gently on her cheek. "In less than a week you will not only marry my son, you will be my _daughter_. I take that very seriously and am ferocious in protection of my children. The people who raised you are not here with you because they do not deserve to be. You may not see me as a parent as of yet. Perhaps never given our history. But for my part, you will be treated as my own."

The tears fall more freely now. No longer in anger or sorrow but with a complexity of emotion. She is accepted and treasured by the most unlikely of families. The Weasleys, whose son she is no longer dating, and now the Malfoys... two of the three Malfoys anyway, and as the song says, two out of three ain't bad. Reaching up, she takes Narcissa's hand from her face and holds it between them. "I'm really glad you and I… I appreciate you accepting me and trying to help me. I don't..." she breathes deep again, clearing her voice of its tell-tale waver. "I guess I just wanted a chance to say goodbye but I guess I already said that to them twice before. It didn't make it easier."

"Nothing makes tragedy easier except facing it and moving forward. That and holding on to those who truly love you."

They stand a moment, Narcissa studying Hermione's face. Hermione looking down at their clasped hands until the other woman pulls away.

"Now." She claps her hands together and the smile returns to her features. "We have flower enchantments to discuss. And the ceremony itself, dear. That muggle thing with the song in the middle of the ceremony. Seems absolutely uncomfortable for all involved if you ask me but I know you want some of your own traditions so I've spoken to the officiant and we think the best time is right after the hand-binding spell..."

She prattles on in a trademark 'Narcissa' way and Hermione can only smile, watching her talk animatedly with her hands. She wishes her own Mother were here and excited for her. She wishes her Father would be giving her away.

But they're not.

Instead Arthur Weasley will beam at her with pride and love.

Instead Narcissa has spent the bulk of her days for months in preparation for the event. And not just the parts that concern Draco.

Instead, people love her and she realizes that she should be grateful and that, truly, she _is_.


	27. Chapter 27

Draco doesn't really absorb much about his wedding day. Indeed if you ask him later, he will most likely tell you it was a blur of tradition, ceremony, obligation, and a little too much wine.

What he can tell you, in exquisite detail, is the moment he sees his wife.

When Hermione is revealed to him, on the arm of the Weasley patriarch, she is stunning; her muggle made gown a beautiful blend of French lace and modern allure. The long veil (though he wouldn't know the name by which it is called) trails from her curls. Her mane is a little tamed, pulled away from her face, but left to cascade down her back. The sash tied in a bow around her waist (rather ostentatious, he observes, considering her normal minimal accessorizing) highlights her trim figure and sets a beautiful contrast of beige against ivory. The entire ensemble in fact, including her honeyed locks, is a masterpiece in monochromatic cream.

And all of this is well and good but the moment that chokes him, that stalls his heart, is the moment reserved just for them: When he alone is allowed to lift the veil from her face, revealing her as his wife, as _his_ , for the first time. He kisses her as instructed by the official, but perhaps not as chaste as the purebloods in attendance expect. When he dips her backwards, eliciting a little 'oh' of surprise from her lips, his hand supporting her neck and his arm around her back, he swears he hears a wolf whistle, followed by the chastising hiss of one of the more proper guests. He smirks against her lips and brings her back up to standing upright. "I love you, my wife."

She breathes deep, eyes closed, then opens them to gaze at him. "I love _you_ , my husband."

The official has been speaking, no doubt dismissing the couple and indeed the guests to advance to the ballroom for the remainder of the evening but Draco hardly hears anything. All sound is muffled as if he is drowning. Looking deep into her molten chocolate eyes, he sort of is.

XXXXX

"No really, not necessary, I don't even dance much. He doesn't have to."

"Nonsense. He insists."

Hermione eyes Narcissa with her mouth screwed up with disbelief. "I highly doubt he is insisting on this, Narcissa."

"Well then I insist, darling. Do your new Mother this favour."

Hermione sighs and gestures for Narcissa to lead the way.

To Lucius.

"Alright, Lucius dear, she's all yours."

The tall wizard holds out his hand for Hermione to take and tries his best to school the discomfort on his face. Not quite quickly enough that she doesn't see it, but Hermione appreciates the effort.

When they are in the middle of the ballroom floor, Lucius leads his new daughter in a very rigid waltz, not quite meeting her gaze. She tries to break the uncomfortable silence.

"I thought the tradition was for me to dance with my Father. Or I guess, Arthur in this case," she quickly adds to alleviate his need at a snappy comment about her parents absence.

"In muggle traditions perhaps. In our world, you are entering _our_ family so instead it is customary for you to first dance with me. Then, once I have shown my approval in this way, you may dance with Draco."

"It seems you would have shown approval a thousand times over by this point, with the ceremony being over and all."

"It is tradition," he grinds out, obviously exhausted of her opinions on pureblood tradition and probably more so the fact that he is not allowed to comment on that exhaustion, lest her earn his wife's wrath.

"Your wife has outdone herself. The manor is stunning and the gardens were like a dream."

He allows the smallest of smiles at the mention of Narcissa. "She does enjoy her parties. This one more than most. I believe she had nearly given up hope of marry off Draco these last few years."

"Must be why she warmed to me so quickly. Considering."

"Considering your parentage?" he questions with no shame.

Hermione raises her chin a notch, meeting his gaze with a cool stare. "Yes that exactly."

He scoffs. "You think she was desperate enough that this is why she was polite to you? Miss Granger-" he stops and shakes his head. "Apologies. _Hermione_. She would not have given her approval to this union for such a shallow reason. Our son had many options open to him. My wife still holds great respect for the old families and pure lineage. She adores you in spite of your heritage."

Hermione rolls her eyes a little and replies, "and I adore her, admittedly, _in spite_ of her pureblood views. And what of us, sir? You and I. Will we play this game for years to come? Shall I expect you to stumble over my maiden name _accidently_ more often than not?" Probably, she knows, she should actually be more offended than she is. Somehow, on this beautiful day, her handsome husband grinning at her each time Lucius spins her to face the west wall, she can take anything this man can dish out. It might be petty, but she even remembers he is not the head of this house. Let an aging wizard snark out his subtle prejudice. She is prepared to let an insult roll off her skin.

She is floored when he responds thus:

"I assure you, _Hermione_ , that slip of the tongue will not happen again. You are no longer simply 'Miss Granger'. Today, you are my daughter. As long as you treat my son with respect, you will receive the same from this family."

She gapes at him and opens her mouth to speak when he cuts her off, leaning in slightly as if to tell a delicious secret. "Though I advise staying out of the southern parlor. The oldest and most nasty portraits hang there." She would swear he winks.

Then the song is over and he is bowing and grazing the back of her hand with his lips. "Thank you, my dear. I am sure my son would like his chance with you now."

She watches, still too shocked to speak and Lucius approaches Narcissa and offers his arm. She takes it with a quick smile back at Hermione and they walk away, mingling into the crowd.

She is still standing there, feet rooted to the floor, when Draco walks up beside her and offers a simple, "huh."

"You can say that again."

"I really didn't expect that to go so well." He looks down at her and smirks. "Good thing too. Now I don't have to kick him out of the manor."

Hermione laughs and slaps Draco's shoulder lightly. "Aren't you supposed to dance with me now? Stake your pureblood claim or some such rubbish?"

"Indeed. Shall we?" She takes his offered hand and settles into a much closer, much more relaxed stance with her new husband.

"So what did he say to you at the end that tied your tongue so obviously? He looked like a cat that got into the cream when he left you standing there gaping."

"Oh please I was not gaping." She considers a moment. Was she gaping? Maybe a little bit... but she certainly won't admit it.

"He was very polite surprisingly. Called me his daughter. I'll admit I was a little floored. But certainly not gaping so stop smirking at me, Draco Malfoy." She can't help but smile back as his smirk broadens into a genuine grin.

She follows him in this and in the next three dances. They finally stop to rest and rejoin the party, not wanting to ignore their family and friends.

As the evening wears on, some of the more distant acquaintances take their leave. The freshly minted couple connect with Blaise and his date with whom Hermione is still completely enamored. They make plans to spend some time together. Perhaps travel abroad to Lizzy's home near Chicago after the honeymoon. The Weasleys take turns squealing with Hermione and threatening Draco that he best take care of their favorite non-redheaded witch. Pansy and Theo Nott give their congratulations. Pansy actually says "I'm very happy for your both" and Hermione nearly believes her so… _that's_ progress.

The one person who has been somewhat absent all night is Harry Potter. He took part in the ceremony as one of Hermione's attendants (oh the scandal! Narcissa had been barely convinced to comply after much kicking and screaming about etiquette and propriety) but had slipped off sometime during the dancing portion of the ball. Ginny shrugs when Hermione asks after him.

"I don't know. He had one of those messages on his cellular and then said he needed to check on something."

"He took a text at my wedding? Geez, Potter, that's classy," she grumbles.

"Is that bad muggle etiquette?"

"It's sort of like sending off owls while taking tea with your in-laws. Just something you don't do…unless someone's head has fallen off or something. I mean, extreme emergency situations only."

"Sorry, Hermione, maybe it was work. Anyway, I'm not pregnant and James has a sitter so open-bar here I come! I'll catch up with you in a few."

She laughs at her friend and waves to her as she looks for a server with drinks. Finding Draco still engrossed with Zabini, Ron dancing with his wife, and even Narcissa giving a tour of the manor to one of Draco's former suitors (Shardlow was it?) she feels like a bit of a wallflower at her own wedding and drifts to the side of the room to watch the grand affair in her more comfortable positon of spectator rather than participant.

It is here, sitting primly on a chair and trying her best to appear comfortable and serene, where she is found by Harry, rushing breathlessly to her side. "'Mione, can you come with me please?"

"Harry, are you ok? Where did you disappear to?"

"I had a call. Please, no questions, just come with me, yeah?"

"I hate when you're cryptic you know." Regardless of her chastising tone, Hermione rises and takes Harry's hand as he leads her through the crowd and through the ballroom.

XXXXXXX

Across the dance floor, Draco notices and excuses himself from Blaise and Theo. Potter seems intent and nervous, his brows furrowed slightly. His wife seems perplexed and is being half drug out of the room. Draco falls into step a few paces behind her and loses sight as she turns the corner for the front foyer.

He barely makes it to the room in time to see her drop to her knees, her skirts puffing around her on the floor. Draco has a moment in which he thinks she looks like a fallen angel but rushes forward, unsure what caused the commotion.

Unsure until he sees another man beat him to his wife and circle her in his arms.

"Daddy?"

A woman is standing behind the two embracing on the floor. He eyes are glassy but she holds herself back almost literally, her arms wrapped around herself, her gaze focused on Hermione.

Sidling up to Harry, he nudges him. "Is this….?"

"Her parents."

Hermione is openly sobbing now and the man is speaking to her in hushed tones.

"I'm so sorry. So, so sorry…we love you. You have to know that. We were afraid but we still love you." His blubbering continues and Hermione looks up.

"Mum?"

The woman doesn't immediately respond, peering down at her daughter with unsure eyes and a somewhat rigid stance.

The man hisses, "Jean! Answer her."

She snaps from her spell and walks forward as Hermione stands, her Father helping her gently.

"You look beautiful today. I never imagined…" she chokes on her words and looks away.

Her Father seems to know what she had wanted to say. Or maybe just inserts what he wants to say instead. "We never thought we would miss your wedding day."

Hermione looks between them and focuses on her Father. "Dad, I'm so sorry. I just wanted you to be happy. And safe. I was so afraid and then you were so angry at me and it killed me! I did everything I could. You can't know what I went through! I was nearly starving… tortured! Did you even know that?" She flashes her arm, the scar visible as she silently lifts the glamor charm. The Grangers flinch. "And there were… I mean unspeakable things were happening everywhere! Muggles were slaughtered every day and I was so scared it would be you and then you _hated_ me for it! How could you hate me when I loved you so much?!"

She is nearly screeching now and Draco pushes his way through Thomas Granger to wrap his arms around his wife. "Shhhhhh. None of that. What have I told you about apologizing when people don't deserve it?" His words are pointed and he glares at the Grangers. Hermione is wracked with sobs and she collapses against him. Narcissa and Lucius, having noticed their son leaving the ballroom, are now approaching the group as well. Ever the diplomat, Narcissa glides right into the fray and pulls Hermione from Draco's arms.

"Hermione, my dove, let's sit and have a nice discussion. I'll have some tea brought and do this properly. Draco dear, please lead the Granger's into the solarium. It is so lovely for guests, even in moonlight. Lucius, can you instruct the elves please and then inform our guests we will be returning shortly and to please continue to enjoy our hospitality?" She starts to lead Hermione away and then pauses. "Oh and Mr. Potter?"

He looks up at her in surprise. "Yes ma'am?"

She frowns. "I feel much older when you call me that, dear. I was going to ask if you might like to come with us as well."

"I-yes. I would if it's not any trouble."

"Oh nonsense. Follow Draco and we will join you momentarily."

In a small powder room just off the first corridor, Narcissa sits Hermione down on a small padded stool in front of a mirror and kneels in front of her to look into her face. "There dear, now let's dry your eyes and clean you up a bit." She casts an impressively wandless spell to remove the make-up tracking down Hermione's cheeks.

"I don't know if I can face them. And it's my wedding. How dare they show up to ruin my wedding day!"

"If your Father was any indication, I don't think they came to ruin it, darling. I hesitate to discourage your ire. I think some anger would have done you good these last couple of years. But today is a good day. A day for healing. If they sought you out, that is a good thing, don't you agree?"

"I-"she huffs in frustration and a little resignation. "Yes. I know. You're right."

"If you do reconcile, however, we can invite them to the manor for some excruciatingly boring pureblood functions to make them feel uncomfortable and insignificant. If you want to of course." Hermione looks up to see the twinkle in Narcissa's eye and cannot describe the feeling of warmth she has for the witch in this moment. It is not lost on her that Narcissa planning a slow burn of vengeance is what is inciting these warm feelings. Perhaps the slytherins are rubbing off on her. She smiles back.

"That won't be necessary. But thank you." Narcissa starts to stand, grinning, but Hermione grabs her hand and forces her to look back at her, holding her stare intently. "No, really. Thank you, Narcissa. For everything. All of it. Even when I didn't agree."

Predictably, Narcissa waves off her sincere gratitude and holds out a hand to help her rise. Hermione has come to realize that wave covers a lot of things. At the moment, it is a slight shyness Narcissa has when she is being praised. Of course no one who is attached to having 10 fingers would ever accuse the Malfoy matriarch of such. It makes Hermione smile and she surprises her new Mother-in-Law completely but pulling her into a tight hug. "I'd like to introduce you to my Mum and Dad."

"We've met, dear. But I _am_ craving a nice cup of tea."

XXXXX

Draco is glaring at Thomas Granger when Hermione enters the room on the heels of his Mother. He stands and reaches for her, kissing her cheek and then waiting for her to sit before retaking his place on the sofa next to her.

The muggles jump when Tilby pops into the room with a tray holding eight exquisite tea cups.

"Thank you, Tilby. That will be all."

He bows and pops away as quickly as he came, leaving Jean staring at the empty place he had just occupied in awe.

Draco sees his parents both begin to speak and decides it is time he took up the mantel of "head of house" in more than name and start acting like it. "Let me be the first to welcome you to Malfoy Manor, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. My name is Draco Malfoy. I believe you have met my Mother." He indicates Narcissa who nods her head toward the pair. "And this is my Father, Lucius."

Lucius eyes him for a moment with an odd look. Draco thinks it might actually be pride.

"I have to wonder, did you know your daughter would be marrying me today? Or is your presence just a coincidence after all this time?"

Thomas clears his throat, clearly the more collected of the two as Jean is still staring at Tilby's empty air. "We… uh…no. We didn't know that today…We just only arrived in London and didn't know…" He looks over at Hermione. "We weren't even sure how to find you. Your mobile number didn't work anymore."

"I changed it. Years ago." Draco thinks her voice is remarkably steady and squeezes her hand in solidarity.

"We assumed as much. The only other number we still had was your school chum, Harry. We didn't know if he would answer. Or if you even still had contact. We just took a chance."

"Have you…" Hermione trails off, unsure. "Have you moved back then? Are you returning to London."

Jean finally looks up. "Heavens no. We have a life now. In Australia. A successful practice."

Hermione flinches a little. Her Mother seems less apologetic than her Father who speaks next.

"We just moved our practice to a new location. We like it there. The weather agrees with my arthiritis." He gives an awkward smile but the room hasn't quite warmed enough to award one back. He clears his throat again, a habit Draco is quickly finding to grate on his nerves. "We have discussed everything. A great deal over the past few weeks. We are happy where we live, probably will even continue using the Wilkins name for our practice. But we don't like how we left it with you. We do love you, Hermione."

"I… I really don't know what to say. You can't imagine how painful-" Draco hears the choke in her voice and rubs his thumb across the top of her hand soothingly.

"It was painful for us too, you know. Can you understand how frightening that was? To wake up and realize you were living another life because your own daughter erased your memory? It was terrifying!" Jean is most definitely the emotional of the two and Draco notices Thomas lay a hand on her arm, effectively stilling her.

"Your Mother has struggled recently, coming to terms with all of this."

"I know a grand little charm that takes the edge off."

All eyes turn to Narcissa whose lips are curled in a devilish smile.

"Thank you, Narcissa, but I think they can come to terms with all of this as I have." Hermione smiles at her new Mother-in-Law, endlessly grateful. More so by the moment.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger." Lucius shifts in his seat. "Perhaps we could ask you to join us tomorrow for brunch in the gardens. With Draco and Hermione. If that works with your schedule of course," he addresses the couple. "When do you leave for Japan?"

"In two days. We wanted tomorrow to pack and just relax a bit after today's festivities."

"Excellent. It's settled then. Come, let us give you a quick tour so the children can get back to their ball. It is their wedding day after all and I'll not have them kept from their own party!" Narcissa stands and there is no arguing with her tone. Draco offers his hand to Hermione's Father who takes it hesitantly.

"Please be good to my little girl. She-she deserves it."

Draco starts to speak but Hermione, eyes shining, cuts him off. "He is perfect to me."

XXXXX

Hermione and Draco are somewhat distracted for the rest of the evening. Word makes its way around many of the guests but most are respectful enough to not comment. The couple sees her parents out after their tour and promises to see them tomorrow. Thomas hugs his daughter and she clings to him with nearly as much fervor. Her Mother simply paces her hand on Hermione's arm and tells her she is happy for her. Hermione nods and smiles a little in response but they do not embrace.

When they finally make it home, Draco carrying her bridal style in lieu of traditional side-along, Draco looks at her with awe. "You were amazing tonight."

"Because I made it all day in these shoes? I know."

He laughs a little as he sets her down. "I was more talking about how you handled your parents but sure, the shoes too. They look killer."

"I don't want to talk about my parents. We can have brunch tomorrow and my Mother will be cold as always and my Dad will try a little harder and I might end up on decent terms at best. But that's tomorrow and has nothing to do with today. Today is only about you and me."

Draco slides his arms around her waist and tugs at the bow of the sash. "You are remarkable." Dipping down to her neck, he finds he pulse and suckles lightly at her skin.

She shivers and reaches around his neck. "I'm not. But don't stop doing that and I'll try to be anything you want…"

He looks back at her. "You are _everything_ I want."

"You stopped. I said don't stop."

Smirking, he lowers his head back down, mumbling, "sorry".

Slowly, Draco divests her of first the sash, then unzips the back of the gown and unhooks the halter at her neck, finding the bodice to be a separate piece. The end result leaves his witch topless with just the flouncy skirt hanging on her hips.

"See, aren't you glad we bought our own place?" Draco follows his witch's gaze around the room in their new home.

"Having you half stripped in the middle of our parlor? Yes, I concede. You, my beautiful wife, were right."

"Get used to saying that. I'm right a considerable amount of the time."

Suddenly very serious, he trails his hands up her sides before coming to rest on her shoulders. His tongue runs a line down her neck until he finds one taut nipple and flicks it playfully, just once.

"Ugh, you're teasing. No teasing tonight I can't handle it."

He flicks again then looks up with a coy smile. "I love when you're wonton."

Hermione begs for haste and eventually Draco complies, his own teasing making him just as desperate as it did her.

Satisfied, sweating, and breathing heavily against each other, Draco holds Hermione tightly to his chest as she clings to his side, spent and smiling all the while.

Their breathing slows and they lay in the dark, reminiscing the day. Most of their memories, against all odds, are delightfully happy.

"My Mum may never come around."

"Your Father seems to be more… emotionally available."

"Nice one. Been watching my telly? That was very muggle psycho-babble of you."

"I happen to have a firm command of the Queen's English, thank you."

She smiles but returns to the topic. "He always was really. More emotional I mean. Our relationship was strained but never as cold as mine with my Mother."

"You have _my_ Mother now. And against all odds, my Father too." Draco kisses her hair and holds her tighter.

Hermione smiles and nuzzles her nose against the side of his neck. "And you. Most important and forever, I have you."

"Will you be alright tomorrow? With them?"

Hermione considers for a long time. Her new husband actually begins to think she has drifted to sleep before she answers in a soft voice. "I will. Even if they never forgive me. I'm going to be fine." For the first time in seven years, Hermione believes it as she says it.

She _will_ be fine.

Tilting her chin up delicately with his hand, Draco takes her lips with his, tasting her just barely with a tease of his tongue and nibbling on her lower lip. "I love you, Hermione Malfoy. Every part of you. Now go to sleep so I can ravish you again I the morning."

She smiles and closes her eyes, allowing sleep to take her, lulled by his heartbeat under her cheek.

Her dreams are beautiful, set against an azure sky, and a little girl approaches her, barefoot in a flowing chiffon gown, a bouquet of wild flowers in her hand.

"I learned what acceptance is today. And forgiveness and a lot of other really great things!" She beams at Hermione and takes her hand.

Looking down at the terribly familiar girl and falling into step beside her, Hermione smiles and nods in understanding.

"Me too."

 **A/N - Ah the end. Bittersweet, a little. I really enjoyed writing this and hope it has been entertaining for you as well. I want to say one more huge thank you to the repeat and one-time reviewers, the anonymous comments, and the follows and faves this story has received. If you have enjoyed it I encourage you to follow me as well as I intend to keep submitting works in the future. I fear I am a little addicted to this wonderful site and will most likely pop up with more soon. As always, comments and reviews are cherished and appreciated and, though follows may no longer be necessary, faves still make me all a-flutter!**


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